"^c  <f 


• 

I 

v      <? 


Mii 


JPn 


From 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

California  State  Library 


SECT 
all  boo 
of  the 
the  ses 
from  tl 

benefit  «.  »«c  niornrv.  uirr-e  tinn-s  tin-  vulue  thereof;  and  before 
the  Controller  shall  issue  his  warrant  in  favor  of  any  member  or 
officer  of  the  Legislature,  or  of  this  State,  for  his  per  diem,  allow 
ance,  or  salary,  he  shall  be  satisfied  that  such  member  or  officer 
has  returned  all  books  taken  out  of  the  Library  by  him,  and  has 
settled  all  accounts  for  injuring  such  books  or  otherwise. 

SEC.  15.  Books  may  be  taken  from  the  Library  by  the  members 
of  the  Legislature  and  its  officers  during  the  session  of  the  same, 
and  at  any  time  by  the  Governor  and  the  officers  of  the  Executive 
Department  of  this  State,  who  are  required  to  keep  their  offices  at 
the  seat  of  government,  the  Justices  of  the  Supreme  Court,  the 
Attorney-General,  and  the  Trustees  of  the  Library. 


BY  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS, 

AUTHOR  OF  "INTRUST,"  "STEPHEN  DANE,"  "CLAUDIA,"  ETC. 


"77;,?  man  is  the  spirit  he  worker  in;  not  what  he  did,  but 
what  he  became.'"—  CARLYLE. 


NEW     YORK: 
SHELDON    &    COMPANY. 

1870. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  18TO, 

BY   SHELDON  &   CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  •Washington. 


Stereotyped  by  LITTLE,  BKHNIK  &  Co., 

M5  and  647  Broadway,  N.  T. 


TO 
FRIEND    AND    COUSIN, 

HARVEY     WHITFIELD    DOUGLAS. 

WOODSIDE,   1870.  ,. 


932662 


ACTION    IS    TRANSITORY — A   STEP,   A  BLOW, 

THB    MOTION  OP  A   MUSCLE— TUIS  WAT  OB  THAT— 

'TIS  DONE  ;     AND  IN  THB    AFTER    VACANCY 

WE  WONDEB  AT  OURSELVES  LIKE  MEN  BKTRATED. 

BUFFERING  IS  PERMANENT,  OBSCURE,  AND  DARK, 

AND  HAS  THE  NATURE  OF  INFINITY. 

WOBDSWOBTH. 


THE  GOOD  WANT  POWER,  BUT  TO  WEEP  BARREN  TEARS, 
TUE  POWERFUL  GOODNESS  WANT,  WORSE  NEED  FOR  THEM! 
THE  WISE  WANT  LOVE,  AND  THOSE  WHO  LOVE  WANT  WISDOM, 
AND  ALL  BEST  THINGS  ABB  THUS  CONFUSED  TO  ILL. 

PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 


TWO  SEVERAL  LOVERS  BUILT  TWO  SEVERAL  CITIES.  THE  LOVE  OF  GOD  BUILDETH 
A  JERUSALEM;  THE  LOVE  OF  THE  WORLD  BUILDETH  A  BABYLON.  LET  EACH  ONE 
INQUIRE  OF  HIMSELF  WHAT  HE  LOVETH,  AND  HE  SHALL  RESOLVE  HIMSELF  OF 
WHEREOF  HE  IS  A  CITIZEN. 

ST.   AUGUSTINE. 


WITH  FATE  AGAINST  HIM. 


CHAPTER  I. 

BERTRAND  DUCHESNE  LEVASSEUR  brought  no  plebeian  blood 
into  the  family  when,  he  married  Edith  Gilliat.  His  daughter, 
sitting  in  state  this  autumn  morning,  might  have  been  a  queen 
three  hundred  years  ago,  as  handsome,  I  suppose,  as  the 
French  ancestress  who  did  sit  upon  a  throne.  But  she  was 
Miss  Beatrice  Levasseur,  dependent  upon  her  grandfather, 
who  lay  dying. 

She  had  passed  her  first  girlhood — women  of  this  stamp 
outgrow  it  early.  Not  that  she  was  faded,  only  it  seemed  as 
if  there  had  never  been  any  link  between  her  and  childhood. 
From  bibs  and  bands  she  must  have  blossomed  into  maturity. 

She  was  a  beauty,  and  had  been  a  belle,  ruling  her  lovers 
with  a  rod  of  iron  at  Newport,  Saratoga,  Washington,  and 
hosts  of  smaller  places.  She  was  still  single  at  five-and-twenty, 
because  she  had  resolved  to  marry  a  man  with  whom,  as  yet, 
she  had  held  only  one  desperate  flirtation. 

Not  from  love  alone.  She  admired  her  handsome  cousin, 
Kirke  Fordyce  Gilliat ;  arid  if  he  had  been  a  poor  man,  she 
would  have  drained  his  heart  to  the  last  drop,  smiling  with  her 
royal  red  lips,  and  let  him  go  for  some  other  woman  to  com 
fort.  Binding  up  broken  or  bruised  hearts  is  a  more  frequent 
matter  than  the  world  believes  ;  for  the  loyal  soul  who  discerns 
the  gaping  sword-thrust  and  heals  it  with  divine  tenderness, 
seldom  betrays  the  man  who  has  once  trusted  her. 


6  With  Fate  against  Him. 

She  was  some  three  or  four  months  Kirke's  senior — almost 
an  "old  maid"  in  his  estimation.  The  slight  difference  was  a 
source  of  mortification  to  her.  They  were  about  twenty-two 
when  they  had  this  "passage  at  arms."  Kirke  had  just  returned 
from  a  three  years'  sojourn  abroad  ;  part  of  the  time  spent  at  a 
foreign  University,  the  rest  in  travel.  That  he  was  elegant, 
polished,  fascinating,  I  need  hardly  tell  you.  The  Gilliats  had 
never  been  lacking  in  grace,  refinement,  or  beauty.  The  old 
Davenant  and  Paget  blood  on  one  side,  the  Fordyce  and  Gil- 
Hat  on  the  other,  kept  the  stream  pure.  A  proud,  exclusive 
family,  with  sufficient  wealth  to  decline  any  vulgar  contact  with 
their  less  aristocratic  neighbors. 

Hugh  Gilliat  lay  dying,  as  I  have  said.  An  old  man,  past 
the  three  score  years  and  ten,  growing  feebler  every  day. 

A  picture  in  himself,  as  he  lay  there.  The  appointments  of 
the  room  were  rich  and  massive ;  the  grand  old  mahogany 
bedstead,  with  its  carved  headboard  going  nearly  to  the  ceiling, 
and  with  a  remnant  of  the  Davenant  arms  upon  it — for  the 
Davenants  having  fought  by  the  side  of  ill-fated  Charles,  would 
brook  no  glance  of  the  canting,  vulgar  Cromwell,  preferring 
exile  instead,  and  had  taken  themselves  and  their  treasures 
across  the  seas. 

Treasures,  indeed  !  This  soft  carpet,  that  seemed  like  the 
cool  and  springy  depths  of  woodland  moss  ;  the  wine-red  tint 
of  the  mahogany,  inlaid  with  pearl  and  silver  ;  the  silken  cur- . 
tains,  with  their  heavy  golden  fringe ;  the  luxurious  chairs,  in 
rich  crimson  velvet.  The  marbles  were  pure  and  choice,  the 
pictures  fine,  two  or  three  of  the  old  masters  among  them, 
and  even  the  lesser  adornments  betraying  no  lack  of  money 
in  the  purchaser,  united  with  the  highest  cultivation  and 
taste. 

Beatrice  revelled  in  all  this.  She  was  not  a  born  nurse,  as 
are  some  women  ;  indeed,  she  rather  shrank  from  the  usual 
concomitants  of  a  sick-room,  but  the  elegance  of  this  always 
had  a  charm  for  her.  The  broad  garden  and  lawn  spread  out 


With  Fate  against  Him.  7 

before  the  windows  another  vista  of  beauty,  from  the  clumps  of 
magnificent  evergreens  and  gorgeous  autumnal  flowers  to  the 
small  silvery  lake,  where  a  Triton  in  the  centre  blew  flashing 
streams  of  spray  from  his  horn. 

She  sat  with  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap.  You  seldom  saw 
her  busy  with  any  trifle,  unless  it  might  be  a  book  ;  and  she 
oftener  summoned  her  maid  to  read  that.  An  imperious, 
haughty  woman,  quite  able  to  sustain  the  family  honors  with 
out  being  crushed  thereby. 

The  sick  man  turned  uneasily  upon  his  bed  of  down.  Very 
pale,  very  much  worn  and  emaciated,  the  white,  soft  skin 
bedded  in  a  thousand  wrinkles,  the  thin  nostrils  transparent, 
the  dark  eyes  sunken,  and  the  straggling  hair  like  threads  of 
silver.  Yet  Hugh  Gilliat  was  not  unhandsome,  in  spite  of  old 
age  and  years  of  illness. 

"Has  the  mail  come  this  morning,  Beatrice?"  he  asked 
feebly. 

The  old,  anxious  question,  and  the  eyes  turned  wistfully 
upon  her. 

"An  hour  ago."  And  she  glanced  furtively  at  him,  not  in 
any  regret  for  his  pain,  but  to  see  how  he  bore  the  delay. 

A  faint,  wandering  sigh  :  a  little  lifting  of  the  eyebrows  :  a 
little  compression  of  the  colorless  lips  ;  then  the  thin  fingers 
plucked  feebly  at  the  silken  coverlet. 

"A  bad  sign,  Aunt  Laura  would  say,"  she  thought  to  hersel£ 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  write  again,"  she  suggested. 

Among  her  other  charms,  Miss  Levasseur  had  a  very  pecu 
liar  voice :  smooth,  rich,  but  strangely  deliberate ;  as  if  she 
weighed  her  words  before  uttering  them. 

There  was  no  answer  for  many  moments.  The  fluttering 
lids  dropped  feebly,  and  so  still  was  he  that  you  might  have 
fancied  him  dead. 

Presently  he  roused  a  little  and  started  at  the  fringe  of  the 
spread. 

"  Beatrice  1" 


8  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"Well — can  I  do  anything?" 

She  rose  and  came  nearer.  A  rounded,  symmetrical  figure, 
full  of  affluent  grace,  with  sloping  shoulders,  snowy  throat, 
proud  poise  of  the  head,  and  a  perfect  wealth  of  shining  black 
hair,  that  lay  above  her  brow  in  great  ripples.  I  told  you  she 
was  handsome — perhaps  no  face  is  so  perfect  but  that  some 
over-critical  eyes  can  detect  flaws  in  it  This  one  was  narrow 
at  the  temples,  and  a  trifle  depressed  ;  and  the  eyes  had  a  re 
markable  inward  look,  as  if  she  were  brooding  over  something 
that  the  world  was  not  free  to  solve.  This  expression  could 
become  very  unpleasant  when  she  chose  :  it  was  one  of  her 
most  forcible  weapons.  The  nose  was  straight,  slender,  and 
with  that  thoroughbred  air  you  find  in  human  beings  as  well 
as  animals.  There  was  another  little  touch  of  something  that 
marred  the  face.  Just  between  the  outer  line  of  the  nostril 
and  the  corner  of  the  mouth,  there  were  a  few  forcible  lines 
that  might  lure  a  wandering  soul  to  destruction,  and  smile 
complacently  as  he  drifted  by  with  outstretched,  despairing 
hands.  For  all  it  could  be  the  centre  of  so  much  tenderness, 
it  reminded  you  of  flame  playing  over  ice,  and  was  at  once 
beguiling,  yet  the  most  cruel  trait  in  the  whole  face.  But  then 
the  contour  and  coloring  were  exquisite. 

"Sit  here  beside  me,  Beatrice.  I  want  to  talk.  I  grow 
weaker  every  day." 

His  breath  came  in  feeble,  yet  rapid  respirations,  and  his  eyes 
studied  her  face  in  an  entreating  manner.  If  he  might  but 
look  into  her  soul ! 

Better  that  you  did  not,  Hugh  Gilliat  For  though  the 
great  idea  of  her  life,  so  young  and  strong,  and  yours  just  flut 
tering  in  the  balance,  are  nearer  alike  than  you  fear,  perhaps 
you  would  shrink  a  little  from  placing  Kirke  Gilliat's  soul  in 
her  white,  untender  hands. 

"  What  did  Doctor  Parmlee  say  this  morning?" 

"Nothing  at  all,  I  think.  The  wine  and  the  tonic  were  to 
be  continued." 


With  Fate  against  Him.  9 

"Little  good  they  will  do:  little  good.  If  Kirke  would 
but  come  !" 

She  drew  one  corner  of  her  mouth  as  if  with  a  sudden 
twinge  of  pain,  and  said,  slowly — 

"He  must  have  missed  the  letters." 

"  I  do  not  see  how  he  could.  I  wish  the  boy  loved  to  be 
here.  Beatrice — I  thought  to  make  him  master  of  the  place 
when  I  was  done  with  it." 

"Yes  ;"  she  answered,  calmly. 

"But  he  neglects  me.  It  is  three  months  since  he  has  been 
at  home." 

"Young  men  are  apt  to  find  attractions  elsewhere." 

He  glanced  at  her  sharply  with  his  sunken  eyes,  in  which 
the  death-shadow  quivered. 

"You  do  not  think  that — "  And  the  voice  was  lost  in  a 
mute,  piteous  appeal. 

It  was  her  turn,  now.  You  would  not  believe  that  she  was 
the  kind  of  woman  to  wait  patiently  for  weeks  until  the  mo 
ment  came  in  which  she  might  serve  her  cause. 

"I  suppose  there  is  some  girl  at  the  bottom  of  the  delay. 
It  is  nearly  always  the  case." 

Her  voice  was  light  to  carelessness,  and  a  half  smile  crossed 
her  lips. 

' '  No,  you  do  not  think  it — Kirke — I've  had  a  plan  a  long, 
long  while  ;  and  I  would  like  him  to  promise  me — but  Kirke 
would  never  lower  himself  by  any  mes-alliance. " 

Beatrice  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  the  grace  of  a  French 
woman,  and  allowed  her  lips  the  least  perceptible  curl.  He 
saw  it,  as  she  meant  he  should. 

"  No,  he  could  not  soil  the  clear,  pure  blood  that  has  come 
direct  from  royalty!  .Pagets  and  Davenants,  Fordyce  and 
Gilliats — not  a  stain  or  blemish.  It  would  be  only  a  young 
man's  way  of  amusing  himself." 

' '  Oh,  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  so — "  carelessly.  She  knew 
that  he  loved  Kirke  Gilliat's  little  finger  more' than  her  whole 

1* 


io  With  Fate  against  Him. 

body.  He  was  always  so  ready  to  resent  the  slightest  inter 
ference. 

"  But  why  does  he  not  come  ?" 

She  answered  him  with  her  eyes.  The  words  that  she  longed 
to  utter  were  thrust  back  out  of  sight. 

For  like  some  other  proud  old  families  the  Gilliats  had 
never  rated  their  women  very  highly.  They  had  been  proud 
of  their  beauty,  dignity,  and  the  inherent  grace  none  of  them 
were  without.  When  the  daughters  had  married  well,  their  duty 
ended. 

It  fretted  Beatrice.  She  was  hungry  for  power.  An  alien 
element  had  been  transferred  into  her  blood  from  some  of  the 
long-ago  grandmothers  who  had  ruled  kings. 

"I  wish  you  would  send  for  Moreau,"  he  said  feebly,  fret 
fully. 

She  rang  the  bell  and  gave  the  order.  Then  she  returned 
and  bathed  his  face,  smoothed  the  pillow,-  chafed  the  cold  and 
trembling  hands  in  her  own,  so  warm  and  fresh  that  the  touch 
appeared  to  inspire  him  with  new  life. 

"I  meant  that  he  should  marry  you,"  he  burst  out  pres 
ently,  with  an  energy  quite  foreign  to  his  usual  highbred  lan 
guor  and  reticence.  "You  two  are  all  that  is  left  of  the  pure 
old  stock.  I  should  like  to  die  in  the  belief  that  your  children 
would  run  about  these  halls,  so  dear  to  me,  that  he  would  be 
master  and  you  mistress  of  this  broad  domain. " 

She  would  have  been  well  satisfied  with  the  position  of 
mistress  whether  she  were  Kirke  Gilliat's  wife  or  not.  She 
had  held  herself  all  these  years  for  one  of  the  two  contin 
gencies. 

"I  think  he  does  not  love  me,"  she  made  answer  in  her 
slow,  decisive  way. 

"And  that  he  does  love  another?" 

"How  can  I  tell,"  almost  gloomily.  "I  am  not  in  his 
confidence." 

"But  you  will  marry  him?" 


With  Fate  against  Him.  1 1 

"If  he  desires  it" 

The  old  man  moved  uneasily.  After  all  there  was  a  little 
tender  romance  in  his  heart  concerning  Kirke.  He  wanted  the 
boy  to  be  happy.  He  could  dower  his  grand-daughter,  and 
still  have  sufficient  for  him. 

For  he  had  always  been  rather  distrustful  of  Beatrice.  Why, 
he  could  not  explain  to  himself.  He  would  not  have  had  her 
less  handsome  or  less  proud,  but  he  experienced  a  dim  mis 
giving  concerning  her  heart,  a  good  thing  for  a  woman  to  have 
if  kept  under  proper  control.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
Kirke  should  bring  home  a  wife  whose  lineage  was  common, 
whose  aims  and  hopes,  whose  very  love  should  have  in  it  some 
of  the  grosser  elements — whose  children  would  riot  in  this  old 
mansion. 

The  vague  pang  in  his  brain  sent  a  shiver  through  every 
pulse.  He  raised  himself  partially,  leaning  on  his  elbow. 
The  colorless  lips  gasped  and  quivered  piteously,  and  he  made 
two  or  three  attempts  before  he  spoke. 

' '  Beatrice,  you  will  love  him  ?" 

It  was  more  of  entreaty  than  question  or  command. 

She  studied  him  with  a  quick,  stealthy  glance.  For  a  year, 
perhaps,  she  had  been  waiting  for  some  auspicious  moment. 
Had  it  come? 

There  was  one  peculiar  thing  in  Beatrice  Levasseur's  eyes. 
Not  the  first  gleam  of  coquetry,  though  she  had  brought  many 
a  man  to  her  feet,  but  a  kind  of  deep,  tenacious  resolve,  not 
the  patience  of  any  tender  grace,  but  an  underlying  resolve 
that  often  does  its  work  more  effectually — the  power  of  waiting. 
The  pupil  and  the  iris  were  so  nearly  of  the  same  color,  a  kind 
of  steely  black,  that  it  gave  them  this  strange,  inscrutable  ex 
pression. 

It  passed  like  a  flash.  Her  brain  processes  were  slow,  but 
once  arrived  at  any  conclusion,  she  acted  instantly. 

"Love  him  !"  she  said,  drawing  in  a  fluttering  breath  that 
sounded  almost  like  a  sob.  "Ah,  you  ask  that  of  me,  and 


1 2  With  Fate  against  Him. 

you  have  never  dreamed  why  other  men  ceased  to  hold  interest 
for  me, — why,  I  preferred  to  remain  here  as  your  companion 
rather  than  mingle  with  the  gay  world.  I  think  he  cared  for 
me  once,  and  if  whoever  came  between " 

She  knew  her  sentence  was  just  long  enough,  and  paused  at 
the  opportune  moment. 

"He  cfc/care,  I  am  certain  !"  The  old  man  was  roused  to 
a  tremor  of  excitement.  "And  it  is  best  that  you  two  should 
marry — the  last  of  an  old,  pure  line.  I  will  send  Moreau  for 
him  at  once." 

Beatrice  looked  satisfied,  something  more,  perhaps,  elated. 
Yet,  bending  over  him,  she  murmured,  "You  will  not  tell 
him ?" 

"  I  will  give  him  my  commands.  If  he  chooses  to  disobey, 
the  consequences  will  rest  upon  him  alone.  There  shall  be 
no  more  delay — no  more  neglect !" 

The  spirit  of  Hugh  Gilliat  spoke  in  that,  rallying  its  old 
forces  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  fell  back  upon  the  pillow. 
Beatrice  bathed  the  deathlike  face  and  chafed  the  cold  hands 
anew,  wondering  in  her  soul  how  long  he  could  last — long 
enough  to  carry  out  his  latest  project  ? 

A  servant  tapped  at  the  door. 

"Mr.  Moreau  has  come." 

"Mr.  Moreau,"  Beatrice  repeated,  in  answer  to  her  grand 
father's  questioning  glance. 

"Show  him  in." 

"Shall  I  leave  you?" 

"No,  child.     Beatrice,  the  journey  is  almost  done." 

He  uttered  the  words  sadly.  Day  by  day  he  had  been 
striving  to  thrust  aside  the  fatal  knowledge,  but  it  rushed  over 
him  now  like  a  torrent  threatening  to  sweep  him  utterly  away. 
How  strange  death  was  !  He  must  provide  for  the  new  line  of 
Gilliats,  and  first  of  all  be  sure  to  have  them  worthy  of  their 
name  and  patrimony. 

The  new-comer  was  a  small,  wiry,  keen-eyed  man  with  a 


With  Fate  against  Him.  \  3 

certain  subdued  business  air.  His  salutation  had  in  it  a  pecu 
liar  grateful  deference, 

"I  want  you  to  go  for  my  grandson  immediately.  If  you 
do  not  find  him  in  Philadelphia — you  have  his  address — con 
tinue  the  search  and  bring  him  back  with  you.  Tell  him  that 
I  am — dying  !" 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Hugh  Gilliat  had  confessed  it.  And 
now  an  awful  grayness  stole  over  his  face,  as  if  the  admission 
brought  the  dread  visitant  nearer. 

" That  is— all?" 

The  sick  man  considered  a  few  moments. 

"No,  that  is  not  all.     You  may  leave  us,  Beatrice." 

She  rose  and  swept  slowly  from  the  room,  leaving  an  inde 
scribable  something  in  her  wake.  An  ease  and  dignity,  a  cer 
tain  sumptuous  air  that  was  like  a  trail  of  light  through  the 
soft  autumn  hush  of  the  room. 

She  guessed  what  they  were  doing  for  the  next  half  hour, 
but  she  asked  no  questions  then,  or  ever.  She  knew  Hugh 
Gilliat  too  well  to  ruin  her  cause  by  the  slightest  show  of 
impatience. 

She  was  summoned  presently  by  Aunt  Laura,  one  of  the 
distant  Gilliat  cousins,  an  aunt  by  courtesy  only.  A  tall,  pale 
woman  with  silvery  hair  and  thin,  wrinkled  face,  but  bearing  a 
few  strong  family  characteristics.  For  many  years  she  had 
held  the  position  of  housekeeper  and  female  head  of  the 
family. 

' '  He  has  asked  for  you,  my  dear ;"  she  announced  in  her 
soft,  solemn  voice.  "There's  a  great  change  in  him,  a  great 
change." 

Beatrice  went  back  to  her  post.  Aunt  Laura  wandered  in 
and  out  like  the  noiseless  current  of  a  shady  river,  hinting 
nervously  at  the  impending  change,  and  sighing  to  herself.- 
Beatrice  grew  strangely  tender,  yet  it  was  no  part  of  her  nature, 
rather  a  stray  branch  grafted  on  by  circumstances.  Not  a 
moment  but  she  watched  through  her  inscrutable  eyes,  as  if 


14  With  Fate  against  Him. 

counting  out  the  heart-beats,  and  keeping  one  end  steadfastly 
in  view. 

Glorious  autumn  weather  it  was,  with  golden  days  full  of 
the  balm  and  odor  of  yonder  crimsoning  woodlands,  with 
skies  of  rose  and  purple  and  nights  of  fragrant  dusk. 
Nearer  to  the  other  shore  drifted  the  soul  of  the  man  within, 
but  her  white  hand  would  be  no  bond  to  hold  him  back.  She 
had  no  romantic  regard  for  old  age,  no  desperate  clinging  to 
the  souls  near  her.  When  her  time  came  she  expected  to  die 
calmly,  and  that  others  should,  did  not  in  the  least  surprise 
her. 

So  she  dreamed  over  her  own  plans.  If  any  hope  should 
be  crushed  out  of  Kirke  Gilliat's  life — any  foolish  fancy,  some 
day  when  he  came  to  his  senses  and  weighed  Rothermel  against 
it,  he  would  be  thankful  that  circumstances  had  decided  for 
him.  According  to  her  creed  there  was  no  ill  and  no  wound 
that  could  not  be  cured  by  gold. 

But  of  that  deep  and  noiseless  pain  which  wrenches  souls,  of 
the  stab  in  the  secret  recesses  of  one's  being  that  cuts  off  hope 
and  happiness  at  one  keen  sword  thrust,  and  yet  raises  no  cry 
to  the  world,  she  recked  little.  Her  imagination  was  not  of  the 
vivid  order,  neither  was  the  torturing  habit  of  introspection  one 
of  her  specialties.  A  straightforward,  commonplace  woman 
indeed,  with  small  principle,  but  a  giant  of  ambition  and 
a  demon  of  ease  and  luxury  ;  and  to  provide  for  these,  her 
petted  offspring  of  habit,  she  knew  no  scruple,  but  that  of 
carefulness.  Not  a  Borgia  or  a  Semiramis,  because,  forsooth, 
such  women  have  gone  out  of  date  ! 

She  had  hazarded  her  guess  concerning  Kirke  Gilliat  as  one 
would  throw  a  dice.  There  were  few  young  men  but  what  at 
some  period  of  their  salad  days  become  entangled  with  a  girl 
they  would  hardly  care  to  marry.  And  granting  this  imaginary 
being  were  an  angel  of  light,  with  poverty  for  her  dower,  she 
would  be  objectionable  to  Hugh  Gilliat,  even  in  his  death 
throe. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  i5 

But  one  morning,  Doctor  Parmlee  said,  with  a  grave  shake 
of  the  head, 

"He  cannot  live  beyond  another  midnight.  When  will 
Mr.  Kirke  return  ?" 

"  If — "  and  Beatrice  Levasseur  gave  a  great  gasp.  But  there 
would  be  the  will ! 

Even  before  the  Doctor's  low  tone  had  ceased  to  flutter  like 
a  breath  of  summer  air  through  the  dark  hall,  there  was  a 
clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  on  the  pavement  without,  and  a  deep 
voice  that  made  the  blood  tingle  in  every  pulse.  The  door 
was  flung  wide  open  and  in  the  sunshine  stood  Kirke  Gilliat, 
dusty  and  travel-stained,  his  face  pale  and  anxious. 

"Just  in  time,  my  dear  young  friend!"  cried  the  worthy 
Doctor. 

Kirke  bowed  to  his  cousin,  flew  up  the  stairs  and  made 
himself  presentable,  washing  away  the  weariness  and  soil,  and 
then  walked  straight  to  his  grandfather's  room. 

What  passed  between  the  two,  Kirke  never  cared  to  repeat. 
Aunt  Laura  went  in  and  out  in  her  usual  noiseless  fashion. 
Beatrice  was  gently  helpful.  Doctor  Parmlee  came  in  again  at 
three,  and  they  all  watched  in  silence.  At  twilight  the  soul  of 
Hugh  Gilliat  passed  over  the  river. 

There  was  a  great  funeral  at  Rothermel.  Something  of  the 
old  feudal  system  had  been  kept  up  on  the  estate,  and  after 
the  family,  and  the  gentry  round,  came  the  cottagers.  Their 
master  had  been  kind,  if  cold  and  hedged  about  with  minute 
formalities.  Yet  Aunt  Laura  dropped  the  only  tears  upon  his 
grave,  and  the  last  thing  she  ever  did  was  to  plant  some  roses 
at  his  feet. 

The  immediate  family  assembled  in  the  library  to  hear  the 
will  read.  The  table  was  draped  in  black  ;  the  chair  in  which 
the  old  man  used  to  sit,  and  the  crimson  curtains,  were  also 
shrouded.  Two  women  in  their  deep  mourning  robes,  and 
Kirke  Gilliat,  high-bred,  handsome,  but  deadly  pale. 

Small  legacies  and  gifts  first,  Aunt  Laura's  house  and  pen- 


1 6  With  Fate  against  Him. 

sion  second,  a  regular  income  to  be  paid  to  Beatrice  Levasseur, 
and  the  estate  with  all  its  rents  and  appurtenances  to  go  to 
Kirke  Gilliat  if  he  married  his  cousin,  if  not,  her  income  was 
to  be  doubled,  a  portion  of  ten  thousand  dollars  to  be  paid  to 
him,  while  the  remainder  went  to  a  distant  Gilliat  connection. 

The  will  contained  no  news  for  Kirke.  His  grandfather  had 
told  him  all,  and  in  his  dying  moments  extorted  a  promise  that 
he  would  marry  Beatrice.  He  had  given  it  to  soothe  the  last 
bitter  pang  of  separation. 

The  keen-eyed  lawyer  glanced  furtively  at  Kirke. 

Not  a  muscle  betrayed  his  resolve  or  displeasure.  He  bowed 
low  to  the  assembled  company  and  retired.  Straight  to  his 
room  up-stairs  he  went,  and  flinging  wide  open  the  shutters,  sat 
down  to  consider  his  fate. 

A  tall,  finely-formed  man,  with  a  maturity  of  figure  not 
always  seen  at  five-and-twenty.  There  was  a  touch  of  the 
Fordyce  in  his  clear  ruddy  skin  and  bright  chestnut  hair,  while 
his  full  beard  had  in  it  the  bronze  brown  tint  the  old  painters 
loved.  A  peculiar  kind  of  beauty  indicating  a  pleasure-loving 
nature,  a  soul  that  absorbed  rapidly  whatever  ministered  to  its 
desires,  and  passed  coldly  by  whatever  was  distasteful,  revelling 
in  a  passionate  and  glorious  enjoyment  for  the  time,  gathering 
sweets  like  the  bee  from  every  flower  that  came  in  his  way. 

Three  years  ago  he  had  expected  to  marry  his  cousin.  He 
had  a  presentiment  that  this  was  his  grandfather's  desire.  So 
he  sunned  himself  in  the  fascination  of  the  stately  Beatrice, 
more  generous  to  him  than  to  most  of  her  lovers,  because  her 
eyes  were  fixed  steadily  upon  the  golden  background. 

One  of  those  sudden  and  unaccountable  changes  intervened, 
as  if  he  had  thrown  in  his  plummet  for  sounding  and  struck 
against  a  solid  rock.  So  he  had  never  asked  her  to  marry  him, 
and  wandered  elsewhere,  butterfly  like,  in  the  search  for 
pleasures. 

What  else?  What  sweet,  dread  knowledge  had  come  to 
him  ?  The  power  to  lift  his  soul  out  of  the  self-loving  groove 


With  Fate  against  Him.  17 

into  which  it  had  drifted  through  flattering  from  without  and 
indulgence  from  within,  by  contact  with  the  one  woman  loyal, 
tender,  truthful,  who  roused  all  that  was  noblest  in  his  man 
hood. 

The  old  story  and  the  old  temptation.  Whether  he  should 
barter  his  soul  and  his  happiness  for  these  broad  acres  ? 

Ah,  they  were  broad  and  smiling  in  bronze  and  crimson 
tints,  and  the  deep  green  of  cedar,  pine,  and  hemlock,  the 
murmur  of  the  old  river  beyond,  the  background  of  moun 
tain  lying  in  purple  gloom,  and  this  mansion  where  generations 
of  Gilliats  had  been  born  and  ruled,  small  princes  in  their  way. 
Then  Kirke  Gilliat  looked  at  the  paltry  ten  thousand  and  the 
woman  to  whom  he  owed  fealty. 

Beatrice  Levasseur  listening  heard  the  soft  step  that  paced 
the  floor  all  night  long.  She  knew  then  that  his  heart  was  at 
stake,  and  ground  her  white  teeth  with  bitter  envy.  She  did 
love  him — Kirke  Gilliat,  master  of  Rothermel,  not  the  poor 
man  with  his  ten  thousand  dollars  ;  and  she  hated  this  other 
one  who  had  come  between. 

Grave,  silent,  and  pale  was  he  for  several  days.  He  took 
long  solitary  walks  and  longer  solitary  rides,  his  poor  beast 
coming  home  sometimes  with  strained  eyes  and  his  glossy  coat 
covered  with  foam.  Aunt  Laura  was  weak  and  motherly, 
Beatrice  quiet,  reserved,  distant.  In  truth  the  very  reserve  be 
gan  to  pique  him,  at  length.  He  had  this  much  of  the  boy 
still  about  him,  that  if  you  put  up  a  barrier  he  desired  to 
demolish  it,  or  at  least  test  his  strength  in  the  endeavor.  Never 
had  Beatrice  looked  handsomer  than  in  her  deep  mourning 
dress,  just  relieved  at  throat  and  wrists  with  folds  of  wreath- 
like  illusion.  Never  had  her  voice  been  sweeter,  or  her  eyes 
worn  softer  lights. 

To  a  man  fond  of  refinement,  elegance,  and  that  nameless 
grace  above,  yet  often  confused  with  high  breeding,  the  con 
stant  picture  of  such  a  woman  may  become  a  dangerous  fasci 
nation.  He  ceased  to  fret  against  the  will,  resolving  on  making 


1 8  With  Fate  against  Him. 

a  pretence  that  he  would  go  away,  would  be  true  to  the 
promise  so  sacredly  given  to  another.  And  because  he  felt 
that  he  could  leave  Rothermel,  he  lingered,  toying  with  the 
temptation.  All  this  while  not  a  word  had  been  said  on  either 
side. 

Then  he  began  to  ask  himself  how  much  right  he  had  to 
crowd  Beatrice  out  of  this  birthright  for  a  stranger's  sake.  He 
also  tasted  the  sweets  of  possession,  the  delicate  allurement  of 
authority.  To  be  master  here — to  rear  his  children  in  this 
grand  old  mansion,  with  its  family  heirlooms,  its  plate  of  gold 
and  silver,  to  have  the  ease  and  comfort  of  this  wealth — ah  ! 
that  made  the  poverty  look  bleak  and  bitter  by  contrast. 

He  had  promised  from  an  overwhelming  impulse  of  tender 
ness  :  for  the  sake  of  having  his  grandfather  die  in  peace.  He 
hated  to  give  pain  when  he  was  present  to  witness  the  suffer 
ing.  And  although  he  knew  then  he  could  not  keep  his 
word,  he  smoothed  the  matter  over  to  his  conscience,  putting 
off  the  evil  day. 

And  now  the  tempter  said — why  not  put  it  off  altogether  ? 
Turn  which  ever  way  he  might,  there  would  be  some  sin, 
some  broken  promise.  Which  would  bring  the  greater  loss 
and  discomfort ! 

Day  by  day  he  weighed  them  in  the  balance.  It  is  always 
the  present  woman  who  has  the  greater  advantage,  and  Beatrice 
understood  hers  and  used  it  warily,  surrounding  it  with  a  kind 
of  high  emprise.  She  would  snatch  him  from  the  dangerous 
influences  that  had  crept  into  his  path :  she  would  really  restore 
him  to  position,  wealth,  and  honor  1 

These  two  skilfully  concealed  the  truth  from  each  other, 
and  the  deeper  blackness  of  their  own  treachery  and  selfish 
ness.  Had  the  pure  Gilliat  blood  come  to  the  dregs  ? 

Kirke  remained  three  weeks,  then  went  away  without  a  word 
as  to  his  intentions.  In  a  fortnight  he  returned,  and  Beatrice 
knew  then  that  she  had  won  her  cause.  True,  he  was  nervous 
and  ill  at  ease,  and  came  to  have  a  kind  of  haggard  look. 


With  Fate  against  Hint.  19 

The  servants,  and  good  Doctor  Parmlee,  as  well  as  Aunt 
Laura,  ascribed  it  to  grief;  but  there  were  two  not  so  easily 
blinded. 

"He  was  a  fool  to  allow  himself  to  become  entangled," 
muttered  Moreau,  watching  him  stealthily. 

"He  has  ceased  to  love  her,"  commented  Beatrice,  inwardly. 

Kirke  Gilliat  was  to  marry  his  cousin  in  six  months — before 
three  had  passed  they  were  engaged.  The  wedding  would 
necessarily  be  quiet. 

Glancing  down  the  future,  he  strove  to  soothe  his  con 
science.  "  For  the  sake  of  possible  children,"  he  said. 

Ah,  he  had  yet  to  learn  that  a  man  might  wake  from  his 
ambitious  dreams,  to  find  himself  cursed  by  a  woeful  progeny, 
the  punishment  stretching  from  this  near  life  to  that  afar,  leav 
ing  in  its  track  ruin  and  desolation. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IT  seemed  to  Victor  Hurst  that  the  long  summer  day  would 
never  come  to  an  end.  Since  seven  o'clock  this  morning  he 
had  stood  in  his  place  amid  heat,  and  smoke,  and  cinders, 
the  only  music  this  incessant  crunch  and  whirr  of  machinery, 
the  ponderous  ring  of  the  hammer,  the  click  of  fifty  sharp 
instruments  that  cut  as  clean  as  a  guillotine,  a  hundred  or 
two  more  that  punched  and  riveted  and  joined — a  general  cho 
rus  of  hideous  sounds. 

There  had  been  an  hour's  intermission  at  noon,  to  be  sure. 
He  sat  on  the  dusty  window-ledge,  in  the  coolest  part  of  the 
shop,  and  ate  his  lunch.  His  mother  had  wrapped  it  in  a 
snowy  napkin,  which  his  first  touch  defiled.  Every  day  she 
did  the  same  thing.  He  smiled  bitterly,  seeing  it.  Clouds 
of  smoke  and  grime  blew  in  the  cobwebbed  window,  settling 
on  the  flaky  biscuit  and  rich  golden  butter ;  the  thin  sliced 
ham,  the  green  currant  pie  in  a  white  saucer,  the  cheese,  rich 
and  soft — a  feast  to  a  man  with  a  wholesome  appetite.  But 
the  first  mouthful  choked  him. 

"Hillo,  Hurst!  star-gazing,  as  usual!  Look  in  the  bot 
tom  of  a  well,  at  midday,  man.  Come  and  have  some  beer  !" 

A  rough  but  friendly  invitation.  Three  men  lounged  over 
opposite,  their  lunch  spread  on  an  anvil,  with  a  newspaper  for 
table-cloth.  A  great  stone  pitcher  filled  with  ale  graced  the 
centre,  from  which  the  group  filled  their  tin  cups  liberally. 

"He's  temp'rance,  he  is,"  said  another:  a  small,  wiry  fel 
low,  with  eyes  hidden  far  behind  shaggy  brows,  after  the 
manner  of  a  ferret's.  "  Should  a'  said  grace  for  us,  Parson. 
Here's  a  heal th  1" 


With  Fate  against  Him.  2 1 

The  pint  cup  was  emptied  at  a  breath,  and  placed  on  the 
improvised  table  with  a  force  that  made  it  ring. 

"Come,  Hurst,  be  neighborly." 

Ned  Connor  was  always  social  over  his  ale.  A  man  of  five- 
and-forty,  rough,  unkempt,  unshorn.  A  great,  brawny  fellow 
— better  for  a  man's  friend  than  his  enemy,  and  not  to  be 
desired  for  either. 

"Thank  you,  no." 

There  was  a  clean  sound  in  the  youth's  voice,  albeit  a  little 
husky. 

"  Let  him  alone  !  What  does  he  want  o' yale  !  Parson's  souls 
must  be  temp'rit,  and  set  a  good  'xample.  Isn't  the  day  but 
Monday,  and  the  young  un's  head  full  o'  yesterday's  sermon  ?" 

They  all  laughed. 

"  When  'ill  'ee  take  to  a  gown  and  pulpit?"  said  the  third. 

"There's  no  gowns  here,  save  over  to  the  church  of  the 
gentry.  Chapel  and  school  'us  folks  don't  need  'em." 

"Mayhap  his  daddy  was  a  shoemaker." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Garrick,"  interrupted  Connor.  "His 
daddy's  a  good  man,  if  I  do  say  it  !  An'  let  him  alone.  If 
he  won't  drink,  he  won't.  He's  as  well  off,  if  he  thinks  so. " 

' '  Wise  child  that  knows  his  father,  Iv'e  hearn  tell.  Don't 
favor  th'  parson  much  \vi'  his  red  hair." 

Connor  raised  his  brawny  fist,  but  while  it  was  still  in  mid 
air,  a  cry  arrested  it : 

"Not  for  me,  Connor,  not  for  me  !"  and  the  voice  rang  out 
sharp  and  clear.  "  No  quarrel  among  comrades  for  my  sake." 

Like  a  flash  he  stood  beside  them.  Connor's  face  was 
flushed,  Garrick's  sullen  and  glowering. 

"  I  don't  drink,  you  know — not  altogether  because  my  father 
preaches  against  it,  but  I've  no  taste  for  anything  of  the  kind. 
It's  not  worth  words  or  blows  among  friends." 

"True  enough."  The  vice-like  fist  fell  and  unclosed,  then 
grasped  the  mug  of  ale  again.  "Health,"  he  said,  almost 
brusquely. 


22  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Hurst  went  back  to  his  window,  crushed  the  scarcely  tasted 
lunch  to  a  jelly,  and  was  about  to  thrust  it  back  into  the  basket. 

"It  will  only  fret  her,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  "And 
— some  one  may  be  hungering." 

He  vaulted  over  the  broken,  grimy  ledge  just  as  the  three, 
all  good-natured  again,  burst  into  a  noisy  chorus.  Glancing 
down  the  hot,  unsheltered  street  sent  a  shiver  over  him.  It  was 
so  pitiless  !  Shops  and  factories  with  the  listless,  midday  air, 
sidewalks  strewn  with  debris,  and  here  and  there  a  muddy 
stream  oozing  slowly  through  its  bed  of  cobble-stones,  but 
baking  to  a  crust  before  it  reached  the  main  gutter. 

Victor  Hurst  shrank  from  it  all  with  an  intense  disgust  He 
picked  his  way  over  bars  of  iron  and  the  remnant  of  a  broken 
engine,  through  a  dingy  alleyway  too  narrow  for  the  sun  to 
penetrate,  and  out  to  the  next  street,  which  looked  rather  more 
inviting.  A  group  of  ragged  urchins  were  pitching  pennies  in 
the  shade,  and  a  beggar-girl  with  her  basket  sat  on  the  step 
of  a  rickety  stoop. 

"Here, "he  said,  thrusting  the  parcel  into  her  thin,  dirty 
hand,  napkin  and  all. 

She  nodded  her  head,  but  did  not  move  her  eyes  from  the 
group  of  boys. 

Then  he  went  onward  rapidly,  in  spite  of  the  hot  noon. 
Some  demon  within  seemed  urging  with  fiercer  heat  than  this 
broiling  sun  showered  down.  And  yet  whither  ?  What  point 
of  coolness  and  rest  spread  out  before  him? 

He  saw  it  now.  It  was  worth  all  the  walk.  Far  beyond  the 
river  that  men  had  prisoned  in  sluggish  bonds  for  selfish  pur 
poses,  coining  its  clean,  clear  throbs  into  their  vile  gold,  far 
beyond  the  smoke  and  red  haze,  the  squalid  houses,  the  unclean 
sights  and  sounds,  rose  the  distant  mountains. 

It  was  odd,  but  one  verse  of  an  old  hymn,  heard  a  month 
ago  in  prayer-meeting,  kept  floating  through  his  brain  with  a 
strange  persistence : 


With  Fate  against  Him.  23 

"  Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood 

Stand  dressed  in  living  green, 
So  to  the  Jews  old  Canaan  stood, 
While  Jordan  rolled  between." 

More  than  once  he  had  come  out  here  to  view  the  spot.  To 
be  sure,  this  muddy  Jordan  had  to  be  glorified  by  the  eye  of 
faith,  but  beyond,  beyond  !  How  one  long  ridge  swel-led  up 
browner  and  browner,  until  it  took  a  tint  of  purple  blackness  ; 
rounding  crag  and  headland,  opening  interminable  vistas, 
haunts  where  one  might  lie  and  dream  forever  with  the  clouds 
of  green  waving  above  his  head.  It  was  so  cool,  so  restful,  in 
the  tender  silence.  The  dense  mass  of  pine  and  waving  hem 
lock,  relieved  here  and  there  by  birch  and  maple,  or  a  stray 
poplar,  with  its  quivering  silver.  Ah,  how  sweet,  how  lovely  ! 
To  go  there  and  live  even  a  hermit's  life  would  be  keenest 
enjoyment !  Anything  to  take  one  beyond  this  noise  into  a 
heaven  of  peace. 

The  midday  hush  began  to  be  broken.  Crowds  of  men  and 
boys  jostled  each  other  with  a  rude  jest  or  merry  quip  ;  frowsy- 
headed  women,  with  their  sleeves  rolled  above  their  elbows, 
came  to  street-doors  and  laughed  shrilly  in  response  to  some 
neighborly  greeting.  But  he  never  stirred  until  the  sharp 
steam -whistles  pierced  the  air  with  their  hideous  shrieks. 

It  needed  but  a  few  moments  to  stride  back.  The  men  were 
all  in  their  places,  the  engines  had  begun,  the  hammers  were 
crashing,  and  the  click,  click  of  the  smaller  works  was  like 
the  undertone  of  some  diabolical  harmony.  It  rasped  every 
nerve. 

Now  and  then  some  one  sang  a  stave  of  popular  melody, 
coarse,  perhaps,  but  cheerful.  They  all  enjoyed  this  common 
place  life,  with  its  hurry,  and  bustle,  and  smoke,  and  grime. 
Some  of  the  men  took  great  pride  in  it,  fashioned  iron  and 
steel  into  shapes  and  bodies  that  held  a  power  akin  to  life, — 
action  at  least.  Why  should  he  dislike  it  so  ? 

Would  the  day  ever  come  to  an  end?     He  glanced  out  of 


24  With  Fate  against  Him. 

his  window.  Nothing  but  the  dingy  orange-red  sunshine,  and 
the  hazy,  bleared. sky.  Was  there  a  God  up  above  ?  Did  He 
care  for  all  these  millions  of  souls  debased  and  degraded,  with 
not  one  clean,  wholesome  idea,  who  toiled  from  childhood  to 
old  age,  or  until  they  dropped  into  an  unhonored  grave  ?  What 
good  came  of  it, — what  great  truths  were  evolved  in  the  course 
of  their  existence?  Would  not  the  brave  old  planet  have  been 
as  well  without  them  ? 

Latterly  he  had  taken  to  nursing  his  heterodox  fancies  over 
the  fire.  He  smiled  grimly  now  and  then  when  he  thought  of 
the  dross  being  purged  out  of  a  human  soul  in  the  same  fashion. 
He  had  been  taught  it  from  childhood.  The  lake  burning  for 
ever  and  ever — like  this.  But  to-day  he  did  not  smile.  Neither 
did  he  believe. 

Six  o'clock  came  at  last.  Several  of  the  men  went  to  wash 
in  a  huge  trough  beside  the  boiler,  and  shaking  the  cinders 
out  of  their  hair,  combed  it  with  their  fingers,  threw  off  their 
leathern  aprons,  and  hurried  away.  Hurst  waited  until  the  last. 
He  let  the  water  out  and  turned  in  some  fresh. 

"  Mighty  perticerler  you  are  I"  said  the  foreman,  with  a  kind 
of  good-humored  sneer.  "In  my  young  days,  what  was  good 
enough  for  their  betters  was  good  enough  for  boys. " 

"You  don't  grudge  me  a  little  cold  water?"  Victor  said, 
almost  angrily. 

"  Not  the  water,  no,  not — the — water  ;"  in  a  deliberate  way. 
"But  while  I'm  here,  Hurst,  I  zw#give  you  a  bit  of  advice. 
Men  never  like  'prentice  boys  to  be  taking  on  airs.  You'll 
want  a  place  when  you're  out  of  your  time,  and  there's  nothing 
like  making  friends — for  a  young  man.  Feeling's  pretty  strong, 
sometimes.  And  when  a  fellow  gets  the  ill-will  of  his  mates — " 

"I  shall  never  ask  anything  of  them  !"  in  a  haughty  tone. 

Now  that  he  had  washed  his  face  clean — it  had  not  been  free 
from  grime  since  morning — you  could  see,  as  he  held  it  bravely 
up  to  Baxter,  that  it  was  an  unusual  face,  to  say  the  least.  The 
forehead  was  clear  and  white  as  a  girl's,  and  the  hair  clustering 


With  Fate  against  Him.  25 

about  it  was  of  a  peculiar  color,  a  very  deep  auburn,  with  the 
bronze  rather  than  red  tint,  fine,  soft, — a  great  mane  curling 
in  loose  rings  at  the  ends.  His  eyes  were  large  and  gray,  his 
nose  straight,  with  those  wonderfully  flexible  nostrils  that  con 
tracted  and  distended  with  a  breath.  A  rather  wide  mouth,  with 
a  line  of  bronze  moustache  on  the  lip,  and  the  lower  part  of  the 
face  not  filled  out,  too  thin  for  beauty  of  contour,  since  at  the 
temples  it  was  very  broad.  Now  there  was  more  defiance  in  it 
than  any  other  expression. 

"You're  standing  in  your  own  light,  Hurst,  I  can  tell  you 
that  I" 

"No,  I'll  never  ask  aught  of  them,  or  of  any  master.  I 
hate  the  whole  thing  !  Every  shop  may  sink  to "  perdi 
tion  he  was  about  to  say,  but  the  thought  of  his  father's  calling 
restrained  him,  and  so  he  added — "for  all  I  care." 

"You'll  be  wanting  daily  bread  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us," 
with  a  half  smile  of  contempt  at  the  boy's  foolish  energy. 

"  I'll  get  it  some  other  way." 

"If  it  is  black  work  it  makes  white  money.  And  no  one 
can  say  that  Norcross  is  a  hard  master. " 

"  I've  no  fault  to  find  with  him.  The  work  is  good  enough 
for  those  who  like  it.  I  don't." 

With  that  he  turned  away,  combing  out  his  long  light  hair 
until  it  glittered  like  a  sunset  sea. 

Baxter  thought  him  an  odd  compound  of  vanity  and  Miss 
Nancyism,  his  figure  of  speech  for  anything  foolishly  nice. 
t     Then  he  came  back  a  step. 

"  Hurst,"  he  said  kindly,  "you've  some  odd  idees  stored  in 
your  brain.  May  be  it  comes  of  being  a  parson's  son  ;  but 
your  father  hasn't  a  bit  of  such  pride.  He's  a  good  man — is 
John  Hurst.  I  shall  never  forget  the  night  he  stood  over  my 
Jem,  never.  And  that  he's  up  in  heaven  I  haven't  a  doubt — 
along  of  your  father's  good  words.  I'm  not  a  religious  man, 
Obut  I  know  the  genooine  article  when  I  see  it.  I  should  be 
sorry  to  have  his  son  go  to  the  bad — as  parson's  sons  often  do." 

Q 


26  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Victor  Hurst  uttered  not  on«  word  in  reply.  His  face 
changed  from  scarlet  to  white,  and  a  blue  line  settled  about  his 
lips.  Not  altogether  anger,  either.  There  was  somewhere  in 
the  words  a  deep  thrust  that  he  could  not  analyze,  and  it  hurt 
him. 

But  Baxter,  having  given  his  advice,  walked  away.  Victor 
finished  his  rude  toilet,  gave  his  trousers  a  brush,  put  on  his 
coat,  and  went  out  also,  taking  up  his  little  basket  as  he  passed 
a  shelf. 

The  walk  was  long  enough  to  allow  his  temper  to  cool.  He 
was  hot  and  hasty,  but  always  it  seemed  there  lay  in  the  depths 
of  his  heart  a  soreness  that  some  words  rasped  into  an  open 
wound.  Why  was  he  so  sensitive,  so  keenly  susceptible  to 
every  look  or  tone  ? 

The  streets  of  Weareham  were  not  marvels  of  beauty.  No 
purely  manufacturing  town  ever  can  be.  The  river  would  have 
given  the  finest  locations  ;  for  on  the  opposite  side  the  bank  was 
very  irregular — here  sloping  down  into  what  might  have  been 
verdurous  lawns,  there  rising  into  small  bluffs  which  a  house 
would  have  rendered  picturesque  in  the  extreme.  But  instead 
there  were  shops,  with  their  tall  chimneys  ;  sheds  for  coal,  lime, 
and  timber  of  all  kinds ;  sloops  and  schooners  flapping  their  sails 
listlessly  in  the  late  afternoon  breeze,  and  two  brisk-looking 
steamboats,  with  a  black  tug  sandwiched  between.  A  busy, 
thriving  place, — a  town  in  which  fortunes  were  made,  where 
the  few  prospered  and  the  many  lived  and  died  unknown — • 
perhaps  not  the  less  happy.  God,  keeping  watch  over  it  all, 
decides. 

It  was  a  long  walk  out  to  the  little  cottage.  John  Hurst  had 
gone  thither  for  cheapness,  and  to  be  nearer  his  work.  Not 
but  what  he  could  have  found  enough  in  the  town  ;  but  people 
in  this  busy  place  had  to  swarm  everywhere,  and  a  true  minis 
ter  of  God  is  never  at  a  loss.  The  men  who  sent  him  knew 
that  he  was  doing  a  good  work,  and  further  than  that  they  gave 
themselves  little  trouble. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  27 

But  Victor  used  to  wish  the  cottage  elsewhere.  The  longest 
way  round  was  pleasanter ;  but  to-night,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on, 
the  eternal  hills,  he  cared  little  for  the  minor  wayside  beauties. 
The  branching  elms  drooping  in  the  summer  heat,  the  glossy 
green  maples,  the  dense  horse-chestnuts,  scarcely  won  a  glance. 
Now  and  then  he  half  stumbled  over  some  group  of  playing 
children  ;  but  not  being  in  a  patient  mood,  he  scarcely  noted 
the  exclamations. 

Through  the  dusty  streets,  still  smoky  and  hazy,  looking 
dimmer  in  the  orange-red  glow  of  the  sunset,  the  dingy  houses 
brightened  a  bit  here  and  there  by  some  stray  gleam. 

Presently  they  grew  more  irregular,  with  larger  gardens  and 
a  few  attempts  at  flowers.  He  knew  of  one  window  where  he 
would  see  a  pot  of  carnations  in  bloom.  A  hump-backed 
woman  with  large  sad  eyes  sat  here  and  sewed.  He  saw  her 
early  in  the  morning  and  late  at  night.  Was  life  wearisome  to 
her  ?  Did  she  never  wish  to  be  out  of  it  all  ?  He  thought  he 
should,  if  by  any  mischance  he  lost  youth  and  health. 

There  she  was  !  A  sweet,  placid  face,  with  her  silvery  hair 
gathered  beneath  a  Quaker  cap.  Was  there  something  in  this 
religion  that  kept  people  always  at  peace? 

On  a  little  farther.  Here  the  ground  was  quite  open,  with 
a  background  of  straggling  trees,  great  pines,  and  chestnuts 
with  bare,  scraggy  trunks  and  thick  masses  of  foliage  above, 
that  shut  out  the  view  of  the  mountains  beyond.  He  held 
a  grudge  against  them  for  that.  One  had  been  scathed  by 
lightning.  A  jagged  fissure  going  nearly  into  the  heart, 
twisting  the  bark  away,  charring  and  blackening, — and  it  was 
now  a  mass  of  dead  branches,  save  one  green  twig  high  atop. 

The  cottage  had  once  been  a  soft  light-brown  in  color,  but 
it  was  sadly  faded  by  time  and  lack  of  care.  The  little  garden 
in  front  was  a  mass  of  bloom,  and  over  the  porch  was  trained 
honeysuckle  and  clematis — Virgin's  bower.  Both  displayed 
some  scattering  flowers,  sprays  of  snowy  white,  like  stars  among 
the  green,  and  the  yellow  and  scarlet  of  the  other.  The  win- 


28  With  Fate  against  Him. 

dow-curtains  were  like  drifts  of  snow,  and  on  each  wide  ledge 
stood  a  saucer  containing  a  mound  of  flowers. 

The  woman  within  heard  the  stride,  and  with  her  work  still 
in  hand  went  down  the  path  to  meet  her  son.  She  knew  by 
the  step  that  something  had  fretted  and  discomposed  him. 
The  cloudy  face  and  firmly-set  lips  were  a  tacit  confession  the 
moment  he  glanced  into  her  eyes.  He  almost  wished  that 
she  could  not  fathom  his  moods  quite  so  readily. 

"Are  you  tired,  Victor?" 

A  sweet,  clear,  trusty  voice.  You  put  faith  in  the  woman 
the  instant  you  heard  it. 

"  Tired — no,"  with  a  short,  forced  laugh.  "  What  should 
make  a  great  fellow  like  me  tired  ?" 

This  time  he  cast  his  eyes  down  to  the  stone  flagging, 
scoured  to  the  farthest  verge  of  cleanliness. 

"It  has  been  a  very  warm  day." 

"Yes,  "briefly. 

He  passed  through  the  hall  and  up  stairs.  The  mere  face 
and  hand  washing  at  the  shop  never  sufficed  for  him.  He  had 
partitioned  off  a  small  corner  of  his  room,  near  the  chimney, 
and  fitted  it  up  with  some  cheap  bathing  conveniences.  So 
when  he  had  refreshed  himself,  scoured  off  the  grime  and  dirt, 
and  was  arrayed  in  clean  linen,  he  began  to  feel  more  com 
fortable.  Perhaps  too  it  washed  away  the  ill-humor. 

He  possessed  a  girlish,  nervous  love  for  cleanliness.  The 
water  rippling  cool  over  his  fine,  soft  skin  ;  the  white,  fragrant 
clothes,  always  laid  in  dried  rose-leaves  and  sweet  baisley,  filled 
his  whole  soul  with  delight.  The  damp  curls  clustered  loosely 
above  his  forehead  like  a  restful  crown. 

Then  he  went  down  the  broad  stairs,  uncarpeted,  but  like 
everything  else  scrupulously  clean.  The  table  was  spread  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor.  What  if  the  cloth  was  coarse  and  the 
ware  plain  delf — it  was  neatly  arranged,  and  just  before  his 
plate  a  slender  vase  containing  some  flowers.  She  did  not 
always  do  this. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  29 

"Where  is  father?"  glancing  out  of  the  window. 

"He  was  called  to  a  man  in  Kent's  Lane — said  to  be  dying. 
It  is  not  likely  that  he  will  be  home  to  supper." 

Still,  she  had  placed  a  plate  for  him.  If  he  had  gone  away 
for  a  week  she  would  have  paid  him  the  same  respect. 

The  young  man  drew  his  brows  to  a  little  frown.  "The  peace- 
fulness  that  made  him  look  like  a  young  god  only  a  moment 
ago  was  gone. 

"If  the  earth  could  open  and  swallow  Kent's  Lane  it  would 
be  so  much  misery  and  crime  and  pollution  taken  out  of  the 
world  !  Oh,  mother,  does  he  believe  their  souls  are  worth  sav 
ing — that  they  have  any  ?" 

"Victor  !" 

She  glanced  up  in  amazement.  A  tall,  slender  woman,  look 
ing  young  for  her  forty  years.  Her  son  might  have,  nay,  did 
inherit  a  certain  delicacy  and  refinement  from  her — it  hung 
about  her  as  fragrance  hangs  about  the  rose.  But  her  hair  was 
very  dark,  with  purplish  tints,  and  her  eyes  nearly  black  ;  her 
mouth  small,  her  nose  not  nearly  so  fine  as  her  son's,  and 
the  contour  of  the  face  altogether  different,  with  something 
wider  than  the  space  of  the  twenty  years  that  lay  between 
them. 

"Yes  ;"  nothing  daunted  by  the  look  and  tone.  "  It  seems 
too  that  there  is  something  sweet  and  pure  in  a  human  soul 
that  will  struggle  up  to  the  light.  The  forlornest  plant  in  a 
dark  cellar  crawls  toward  some  crevice,  you  know,  even  if  it 
has  to  drag  a  yard  of  thread-like  stem,  that  can  hardly  sustain 
the  weight  of  a  bud." 

"But  these  creatures — faugh  !" 

The  haughty  nostrils  curled  in  disgust. 

"God  made  them.  They  are  His  creatures.  And  if  they 
cannot  save  themselves,  some  one  must  help.  Was  not  Cain 
his  brother's  keeper  ?" 

"  Did  God  make  them  ?" 

"  Victor  1"  in  a  sad,  pained  tone  this  time. 


3<D  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"Mother,  I  wish  you  had  called  me  John  after  my  father. 
I  wonder  that  he  indulged  you  in  such  a  romantic  fancy." 

The  young  man  gave  a  grim,  bitter  smile. 

"  It  was  my  fancy.     Then  you  do  not  like  it  ?" 

There  was  something  deeper  than  disappointment  in  the 
faltering  voice. 

"Yes,  I  like  it ;"  with  a  peculiar  exultant  ring.  "Victor" — 
softly,  as  if  he  were  petting  a  child.  "The  name  for  a  man 
who  is  to  triumph." 

"Yes — I  thought  of  it  then.  There  comes  some  kind  of 
trial  in  all  our  lives ;"  and  there  was  a  strand  of  reverie  in  her 
tone  while  her  thoughts  seemed  engrossed  with  an  inward 
sight.  "And  you  will  gain  the  victory — make  a  good  fight," 
she  added,  as  an  afterthought. 

"With  what,  mother?" 

"Your  own  soul,  I  think  ;"  rather  hesitatingly. 

"And  what  am  I  to  do  with  it,  mother?  Bring  it  up  to  the 
earthly  height  for  which  it  longs  so  madly,  like  a  chained 
prisoner  for  freedom  ;  or  cross  it  and  thwart  it,  wrap  it  in  the 
coarseness  of  sackcloth  or  the  foulness  of  ashes,  and  when  it 
has  been  despoiled  of  every  human  attribute,  of  every  desire 
and  hope,  call  it  a  thing  fit  for  Heaven,  and  offer  it  to  God  ? 
Why,  it  appears  monstrous. " 

1 '  Victor,  you  are  tempted  of  the  evil  one  to-night. " 

He  was  toying  with  his  plate  of  blackberries,  turning  them 
over  in  the  hoar-frost  of  sugar  that  lay  in  little  mounds  atop. 

"Which  is  the  devil,  and  which  is  God?" 

His  voice  was  hoarse  with  some  but  half-suppressed  emotion, 
and  dangerous  steely  lights  flashed  into  his  eyes.  She  saw  it 
all  with  pain  and  anguish,  deeper  than  he  could  ever  guess. 

"  Yes.  Decide  for  me  if  you  can  ;"  and  his  words  rang  out 
sharply.  "For  the  clear  and  pure  impulses  that  lift  me  above 
the  grovelling  lives  that  I  see  daily  about  me — the  instinct 
which  would  keep  me  from  theft,  drunkenness,  vileness,  lying, 
forger)^,  and  perhaps  murder,  makes  me  hate  my  surrounding 


With  Fate  against  Him.  31 

so  bitterly  that  the  whole  world  grows  black  before  me  !  I  loathe 
every  day,  every  hour,  save  perhaps  an  evening  like  this." 

She  knew  what  made  this  better  than  ordinary,  why  she  had 
placed  the  flowers  before  his  plate  and  sprinkled  the  white 
sugar  over  his  berries.  There  was  a  fine  and  subtle  antago 
nism  growing  up  between  the  father  and  the  son.  She,  standing 
midway,  with  love  on  one  side,  and  duty  on  the  other,  such 
as  few  women  ever  could  owe,  had  tried  to  be  blind  to  the 
fatal  differences.  Ah,  God,  what  if  her  whole  life  had  proved 
a  mistake! 

"Yes,  which  is  the  Devil?"  All  day  there  has  been  a  hot, 
smothering  fire  in  my  very  soul.  Why,  at  noon  I  could  have 
throttled  Garrick,  low  brute  !  for  something  he  said,  only  this 
same  impulse  withheld  me — because  his  coarse  skin  and  mat 
ted  .beard  would  have  struck  hard  and  foul  against  my  sensitive 
fingers — not  that  his  life  had  any  sacredness  in  my  eyes." 

"  Does  God's  grace  implant  such  desires?" 

Her  voice  had  a  sudden  bravery  in  it,  her  face  lighted  up 
with  a  peculiar  martyr-like  strength.  The  issue  that  she  had 
staved  off  so  long,  and  temporized  with  in  her  woman's  tender 
way,  must  be  met 

"  Has  God  anything  to  do  with  it  ?  It  appears  sometimes  as 
if  we  were  creatures  of  blind  chance.  Place  a  man  in  the  right 
groove,  and  he  goes  up,  thrust  him  outside  of  the  pale,  and'  it 
is  only  a  longer  or  shorter  road  to  perdition — according  to  my 
father's  belief;"  and  he  smiled  bitterly. 

' '  Oh,  Victor — I  thought  you  in  the  right  way  once — "  and 
there  was  a  great  fear  and  trembling  in  her  voice. 

"I  thought  so  too.  We  did  have  a  few  months  of  perfect 
peace  then,  a  little  glimpse  of  what  heaven  might  be.  I  tried 
to  be  patient  with  my  work.  I  comforted  myself  with  brave 
old  St.  Paul's  courage  and  strength  and  heroism.  But  perhaps 
he  had  a  natural  aptitude  for  tent-making,  and  I — yes,  I  hate 
the  sight  and  sound  and  grime  and  smoke  of  that  place  down 
yonder  !  You  don't  know.  Snatches  of  coarse,  ribald  songs, 


32  With  Fate  against  Him. 

jeering,  swearing  !  What  does  it  do  toward  purifying  a  man's 
soul  ?  Not  that  Norcross  is  to  blame.  He  wants  the  best 
workmen  he  can  find ;  and  if  they  are  brawny  and  sure  of  eye 
and  hand,  what  matters  a  few  gallons  of  beer  inside,  or  a  few 
oaths  without,  so  long  as  his  work  is  all  right  and  he  makes 
money?  It  is  no  worse  there  than  anywhere  else.  My  father 
thought  it  would  crush  the  pride  and  take  the  whims  out  of 
me.  It  has  taken  the  religion,  if  I  had  any  !" 

His  tone  was  deep  and  desperate. 

"And  what  has  come  in  its  place?  Has  your  soul  any 
better  anchor  ?" 

"Nothing  but  this  great  hungry  discontent  gnawing  on  my 
vitals  like  a  vulture.  And  to-day  it  seems  as  if  all  the  ache 
and  agony  had  culminated.  I've  found  the  best  way  out. 
I've  resolved  upon  my  course." 

"And  that  is ?"  her  face  growing  gray  and  wan  with 

apprehension. 

"I  am  going  away.  I  am  glad  to  have  this  talk  with  you 
to-night,  for  to-mojrow  I  shall  leave  Weareham  and  go  out  to 
a  new  world." 

"Oh,  my  son  !  my  son  !" 

A  wild,  pained  ciy,  like  that  of  the  mother-bird  who  finds 
her  nest  despoiled  and  her  birdlings  gone  1 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  passionate  love,  the  strong  and  impetuous  anxieties  of 
a  mother,  the  grief  of  separation  rending  her  soul  asunder,  the 
settled  conviction  that  much  was  wrong,  but  the  utter  inca 
pacity  to  right  it,  all  spoke  in  her  cry. 

Victor  Hurst  sprang  up  and  came  round  to  her  side,  press 
ing  his  flushed  cheek  against  the  pale  one,  smoothing  the  soft 
hair,  and  catching  at  the  imploring  hands. 

"Oh,  mother,  mother,  listen  and  forgive!  If  you  could 
look  into  my  soul — its  blackness,  its  hunger,  its  mad  struggles 
— you  would  bid  me  go." 

Oh,  pitiless  youth  !  In  the  impatient  intensity  of  his  pain  he 
forgot  hers.  Perhaps  God3  has  willed  wisely  that  the  soul  of 
the  child  should  not  be  so  far  reaching  as  that  of  the  parent, 
else  the  weight  of  care  would  crush. 

"I  do  not  make  you  happy.  I  fret  my  father  continually/ 
I  am  so  different  from  either  of  you.  Mother,  where  did  I  get 
this  nature  ?"  he  went  on  vehemently. 

A  look  of  stony  terror  seemed  to  freeze  in  her  face.  Was 
that  old  time,  buried  she  thought  in  a  deep,  hidden  grave, 
rising  up  to  confront  her  ?  Her  tongue  was  dry  and  dumb, 
her  lips  seemed  for  the  moment  palsied. 

"You  will  be  happier  without  me.  You  and  he  can  live 
your  self-denying,  blameless  lives,  and  work  for  the  salvation  of 
the  perishing,  if  so  be  that  you  can  save.  And  I  shall  be 
trying  my  strength  with  the  gray  old  world  beyond,  in  a  hand- 
to-hand  fight.  If  I  have  anything,  I  must  wrest  it  from  fate !" 

His  face  was  in  a  strange,  passionate  glow :  the  eyes  sublimed 
to  daring  intensity,  the  hair  thrown  back  from  his  forehead  like 

2* 


34  With  Fate  against  Him. 

an  aureole  of  sunset,  the  scarlet  lips  parted,  showing  the  strong 
white  teeth.  So  brave,  so  beautiful ;  but  God  made  him  hers 
first  of  all ! 

"No,  "she  said.  "If  you  go,  you  will  take  my  very  life. 
Better  a  hundred  times  to  die  by  your  hand,  here  at  your  feet, 
than  to  know  the  long,  long  agony  of  starvation  !  Oh,  Victor  !" 

He  raised  himself  and  studied  her.  A  grave  face  always, 
looking  as  if  some  light,  sad  to  miss,  had  gone  out  of  it.  But 
to-night,  the  terror  and  ap{  rehension  in  it  startled  him.  He 
felt  himself  on  an  uncertain  sea  again,  with  no  chart  or 
compass. 

"No,  you  could  not  go,"  she  began  in  a  slow,  wandering 
tone.  "There  are  the  indentures,  you  know, — your  father's 
word  and  your  own." 

"As  if ?"  But  he  came  to  a  sudden  pause. 

"  It  does  hold  you,"  clinging  to  the  words  with  her  soft  voice, 
like  the  drowning  mariner  to  a  floating  spar.  "And  it  is  not 
so  long  to  wait.  Next  ^lay — you  can  go  honorably  then.  Don't 
begin  life  wrong,  with  a  meanness  that  would  always  make  you 
ashamed  !" 

He  flushed  hotly. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  owe  any  one — much  !  I  went  to  the 
business  against  my  will." 

It  was  too  true ;  she  knew  it.  In  this  sore  strait  her  mind 
seemed  to  grow  confused. 

"  For  my  sake  !  for  my  sake  !     Have  children  no  pity?" 

He  stared  at  her  blankly.  There  had  been  times  when  he 
fancied  her  placid,  yielding  nature  deficient  in  any  of  the 
stronger  passions.  But  how  strangely  it  was  roused  now ! 
The  d-eep  eyes  were  like  lakes  of  subtle,  quivering  flame. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  if  you  knew  all  !" 

"Tell  me." 

"  It  is  so  hard  to  stay  there.  No  companionship,  no  interest, 
a  weary  dragging  out  of  the  days  like  a  galley-slave  !  And 
eveiy  month,  every  week,  the  longing  has  grown  upon  me.  To 


With  Fate  against  Him.  36 

be  free,  to  be  the  veriest  vagabond  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  so 
that  I  might  come  and  go  at  will,  try  all  things  until  I  found 
the  one  which  satisfied  me,  filled  my  soul  with  boundless 
content." 

"  It  can  never  come  in  this  world  ;"  shaking  her  head  sadly. 

"  But  it  does  to  some." 

"Who  first  learn  to  moderate  their  desires?  In  this  life  of 
probation — " 

"Mother,  don't!"  as  if  he  had  been  suddenly  stung.  "I 
know  the  preachers'  theory.  But  does  God  fill  human  souls 
with  high,  pure  aspirations,  courage  to  do,  patience  to  wait,  and 
hope — only  that  you  must  strangle  them  all  in  the  way,  stamp 
them  down  into  nameless  graves,  and  do  continually  that 
which  you  hate  ?  Then  your  God,  and  that  of  my  father,  is 
cruel." 

"Oh  Victor,  think  how  you  are  talking!"  she  cried  be 
seechingly. 

"I  cannot  help  it,"  with  a  kind  of  sullen  despair.  "  It  has 
been  forced  upon  me.  Gbd  knows  that  I  tried  to  believe, 
tried  to  cheat  myself  into  the  semblance  of  content.  But  why 
should  a  man  lie  against  his  own  soul?  I  will  no  longer  at 
tempt  to  practise  this  deceit.  I  am  restless,  miserable,  perhaps 
possessed  of  a  devil — who  knows?"  gloomily. 

He  looked  as  if  he  might  be,  with  that  lurid  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  Pray,  pray  !"  she  implored. 

"For  what  shall  I  pray?  Freedom  to  follow  out  my  own 
devices  ?  For  that  is  the  only  thing  I  need. " 

"And  yet  you  were  once  happy  in — in  your  father's  way." 
And  she  seemed  to  question  him  with  her  slow,  sad  eyes. 

"I  fancied  so  ;  but  I  have  fallen  from  grace." 

"My  gr"ce  shall  be  sufficient  for  thee?"  she  said,  in  the  low 
tone  of  repetition. 

"  Perhaps  I  never  had  any.  I  think  I  yielded  in  part  to  my 
father's  importunity.  And  this  old  demon  of  unrest,  that  must 
have  been  born  with  me,  was  always  goading  me  to  something. 


36  With  Fate  against 

Since  I  could  not  have  it  in  the  companionship  of  brother? 
and  sisters,  I  ought  to  have  had  it  in  the  free  life  of  other  boys. 
But  I  was  strictly  brought  up — you.  know  that.  Once  I  smug 
gled  some  books  into  the  house,  and  my  father  burnt  them.  He 
put  me  in  a  machine-shop  because  I  liked  clean  hands,  and 
tidy  collars,  and  wristbands.  It  was  to  crush  out  my  pride,  to 
make  a  man  6f  me,  to*  bring  me  on  a  level  with  the  poorest  of 
God's  creatures  !  I  was  to  despise  no  one,  to  feel  myself  above 
no  one  ;  and,  mother,  I  tell  you  in  all  honesty,  that  if  I  ever 
fancied  that  I  should  come  down  to  the  level  of  Connor 
and  Garrick,  I  should  open  a  vein,  and  let  out  the  life-blood 
that  pains  you  by  this  continual  rebellion." 

"  He  did  not  mean  that — he  did  not  mean  that!"  she  cried, 
wildly.  "  He  goes  among  such  men,  and  labors  to  raise  them  ! 
His  whole  pure,  self-sacrificing  life  is  spent  in  it.  He  lives  on 
a  crust  and  water,  that  he  may  minister  to  the  bodies  of  the 
destitute  as  well  as  their  souls.  He  is  a  good  man  !" 

' '  With  a  narrow  creed.  I  don't  know  why — he  is  my  father, 
but  there  is  an  antagonism  between  us.  His  likes,  and  aims, 
and  wishes  are  not  mine.  He  thwarts  me  in  my  tenderest 
points.  So  it  is  best  for  us  to  go  our  separate  ways.  Other 
sons  try  the  world  for  themselves." 

"Oh,  you  will  never  know  all  you  owe  him." 

"I  don't  understand  how  we  incur  such  debts.  Do  we  ask 
to  be  born  ?  And  is  it  not  the  mother  who  cradles  us  in  her 
tired  arms,  who  soothes  us  through  our  restless  nights,  who 
stands  between  us  and  harm, — displeasure,  even  ?  For  I  think, 
sometimes,  in  my  boyhood  he  would  have  struck  me  but  for 
your  beseeching  eyes.  I  am  glad  that  he  never  did.  But 
I  owe  you — oh,  a  thousand  times  the  more." 

He  kissed  the  cold,  colorless  lips  with  the  sudden  rapture  of 
a  man's  love. 

"Then  I  take  the  debt,"  she  said,"  almost  joyfully.  "Pay 
me  by  staying.  Finish  your  time  honorably.  Some  day  you 
may  be  glad  to  have  no  stain  upon  your  name." 


With  Fate  against  Him.  37 

"But  it  is  so  hard,"  he  moaned. 

"My  son,  a  mother's  love  may  lighten  the  burden,  even  if 
you  cast  out  the  higher  support." 

"  Did  I  cast  it  out  ? — I  think  I  never  understood  it  as  you 
and  my  father  do.  I  wanted  the  peace  it  promised,  and  I 
clung  to  something.  I  prayed.  I  fancied  that  I  heard  voices 
in  the  air,  and  yielded  with  great  joy.  God  will  bear  me 
witness  that  I  meant  to  be  honest." 

"And  if  you  had  kept  the  faith,"  she  gasped. 

"The  old  discontent  and  rebellion  came  back,  the  longing 
for  a  new  and  different  life,  the  man's  awakening  when  he  has 
ceased  to  be  a  child,  the  conflicting  forces  of  the  soul.  Sub 
mission  to  the  inevitable  may  be  a  virtue,  but  my  lot  can  be 
changed,  and  that  is  why  I  beat  against  my  prison -bars.  Why 
then  did  the  faith  die,  if  it  was  grounded  upon  the  Rock  ?  No, 
mother,  we  were  all  mistaken,  I  never  had  it." 

Her  eyes  were  downcast,  sorrowful. 

"And  I  ask  myself  if  I  sjjall  ever  find  it !  But  there  seems 
so  many  more — " 

"Not  more  necessary  things,  Victor  ;"  in  affright.  "He  said, 
'Seek  first  the  kingdom,  and  all  these  shall  be  added  unto 
you.'" 

"  What  has  been  added  to  my  father?  He  spends  his  life  for 
the  grovelling  souls  down  yonder  ;  he  gives  his  time,  his  energy, 
his  ambitions,  if  he  ever  had  any,  for  the  miserable  pittance — " 

"No,  for  the  love  of  Christ,  for  the  crown  incorruptible; 
and  if  so  be  any  of  those  poor  beings  may  prove  worthy  to 
wear  it,  his  joy  will  be  the  greater.  There  is  something  higher 
than  earthly  ambition." 

Her  voice  was  strong  and  clear  now,  when  she  felt  sure  of 
her  ground. 

"Did  he  think  so  in  his  youth  ?" 

"  No — at  least — I  did  not  know  him  then.  He  was  a  grave, 
kindly  man  when  I  first  met  him — not  young ;  but  I  think  he 
never  could  have  had  any  restless  longings  or  ambitions." 


38  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"  And  I  am  so  different.  The  blood  of  some  old  ancestors 
runs  in  my  veins  rather  than  his.  Can  I  help  it?" 

The  hand  on  his  arm  shivered  a  little,  the  breath  came  in 
hurried  gasps,  and  the  startled  eyes  gazed  into  vacancy,  to  the 
garden  without,  to  the  grove  of  trees  beyond  ;  anything  rather 
than  her  child's  face.  What  did  she  fear  to  read  there  ? 

"You  are  disappointed  because  I  am  not  more  like  him — 
my  father.  In  those  days  you  loved  him  with  a  passion,  I 
suppose,  as  young  girls  do.  He  was  your  ideal.  And  it 
seemed  strange  to  find  a  hawk  where  one  looked  for  a  dove, 
iu  the  nest." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  love  ?"   she  said,  hoarsely. 

"Only  what  I  read,  and — imagine." 

"He  loved  me,"  as  if  she  were  talking  to  herself.  "He 
was  one  man  out  of  a  thousand.  You  can  never  understand 
all  his  nobleness." 

He  smiled  a  little  pityingly.  Did  women  always  cling  thus 
to  the  heroes  of  their  youth  ?  see  in  their  commonplace  vir 
tues  knightly  grace  and  prowess  ?  A  hard,  cold,  rigid,  self- 
contained  man,  he  should  have  said,  with  only  average  ability, 
and  not  concentrating  in  either  person  or  mind  the  beauty  or 
tenderness  necessary  to  win  a  woman's  undying  love. 

"No,"  he  made  answer.  "There  are  many  things  about 
him  that  I  shall  never  understand.  And  it  seems  to  me  that 
our  paths  lie  in  different  directions." 

"But  not  now.  Bear  it  a  little  longer  for  my  sake.  Be 
victor  over  yourself." 

Her  voice  moved  him  strangely,  in  spite  of  the  hot  impa 
tience  of  youth,  in  spite  of  all  his  resolves.  Perhaps  it  would 
have  been  better  if  he  had  risen  while  the  morning  stars  were 
still  in  the  sky,  and  begun  his  pilgrimage  mountain-ward,  leav 
ing  behind  him  only  the  note  he  had  planned  so  many  times 
that  afternoon.  Ah,  he  could  not  tell  now.  It  might  be  that 
he  did  owe  some  duty. 

He  went  round  to  his  place,  and  sat  down  in  the  quaint 


With  Fate  against  Him.  39 

splint-bottomed  chair,  thinking  oddly  enough  that  it  was  his 
father's  work,  and  that  he  could,  in  country  parlance,  "turn 
his  hand  to  anything" — even  shoemaking  ;  and  that  brought  a 
sense  of  aversion,  disgust.  So  he  finished  his  berries  slowly, 
sipped  the  tea,  but  ate  no  more. 

While  he  sat  by  the  window  watching  the  twilight  flank  the 
woods  in  grotesque  shapes,  as  if  posting  sentinels  from  some 
weird  world,  his  mother  began  to  pile  up  her  cups  and 
saucers,  and  set  away  the  remnants  of  provision,  watching 
him  stealthily. 

Yes,  he  was  handsome,  with  more  in  his  youthful  face  than 
one  usually  discerns,  or  at  least  the  mother's  partial  eyes  had 
discovered  it  long  ago.  Tall,  straight,  supple,  rounded  with 
surpassing  symmetry  ;  hands  browned  and  hardened  by  toil, 
but  shapely  as  if  carved  out  of  marble,  and  feet  that  were  their_ 
counterpart.  Nobler  than  the  vision  she  had  seen  long  ago,  for 
all  the  smile  was  cynical  instead  of  sweet;  the  eyes  almost  fiery 
in  their  impatience  ;  the  brows  contracting  with  every  trifling 
emotion. 

And  what  of  his  soul  ?  Her  life  had  been  so  quiet,  so  gov 
erned  by  rules  springing  from  the  wishes  of  another,  that  she  had 
hardly  looked  at  her  child's  future  in  the  light  in  which  she  now 
saw  it.  Some  old  taint  of  ancestry  cropping  out  that  terrified  her. 

When  the  dishes  were  washed  and  put  away,  and  the 
table  moved  to  its  accustomed  place,  she  came  and  stood  by 
her  son,  threading  his  silken  hair  with  her  soft  fingers,  and 
starting  a  little  at  the  bounding  throb  in  his  temples. 

"  It  is  a  hard  fight,  my  son. " 

"Yes." 

"  I  think  God  never  turned  away  from  the  soul  that  cried 
unto  Him." 

"  I  have  cried  !"  gloomily. 

"With  faith?" 

"Not  with  faith, — rather  despair.  For  I  have  no  faith  in 
what  can  be  done  here.  When  I  go  away — " 


4O  With  Fate  against  Him.  . 

"You  will  wait  until  you  can  go  honorably."  Something  in 
her  voice  appeared  to  guide  and  repress. 

"I  will  wait."  He  uttered  the  words  coldly,  and  they  gave 
her  no  secret  thrill.  He  had  yielded  from  a  sense  of  persua 
sion,  perhaps  duty,  not  any  tender  son's  love  for  her,  not  any 
pity  for  her  loneliness. 

And  then  she  thought  of  another  who  had  not  hesitated  to 
trample  upon  her  crushed  and  bleeding  soul,  to  leave  her 
perishing  by. the  wayside;  and  of  the  good  Samaritan  who 
had  bound  up  the  wounds  and  given  her  a  home  in  his  heart 
freely.  To  which  of  the  two  owed  she  the  most  fealty  ? 

The  darkness  fell  around  them.  A  cricket  began  to  chirp  in 
the  corner,  adding  his  voice  to  the  chorus  outside.  Far  down 
the  woods  the  Whip-poor-will  sent  out  his  plaintive  note ;  and 
the  fire-flies  sunned  themselves  in  each  other's  radiance.  All 
was  still  and  lovely,  and  the  air  made  fragrant  with  the  dewy 
sweet-brier. 

But  neither  of  them  spoke.  She  drew  her  low  rocking- 
chair  beside  him,  and  began  to  sing  in  a  soft,  untrained  voice, 
a  grand  old  hymn,  for  she  had  long  ago  done  with  sweet 
girlish  ballads. 

*'  Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense, 
But  trust  Him  for  His  grace." 

The  sound  and  the  words  passed  idly  through  the  son's  ears. 
He  was  brooding  over  the  wreck  of  plans  that  looked  so  fair  an,d 
feasible  a  few  hours  ago.  Almost  ten  months  to  wait.  Oh, 
if  he  had  not  yielded  so  weakly,  so  easily.  After  all,  was  it 
any  point  of  honor  ?  His  father  had  bound  him  at  the  Nor- 
cross  Machine  Works,  knowing  that  he  disliked  it ;  that  he 
had  no  taste  for  the  business,  except  a  peculiar  vein  for  me 
chanics  which  cropped  out  now'and  then  in  some  odd  improve 
ment  about  the  house,  or  a  fantastic  design  of  drawing,  rude 
yet  bold. 

For  John  Hurst  had  a  horror  of  lawless,  vagabondish  ways. 
This  boy,  who  had  now  and  then  played  truant  from  school, 


With  Fate  against  Him.          .       41 

spent  nights  in  the  mountain  wilds,  and  whom  he  had  once 
found  playing  cards  at  the  tavern,  needed  the  strictest  watch 
and  ward  to  keep  him  from  going  to  ruin.  Some  alien  blood 
ran  in  his  veins. 

At  sixteen  the  bonds  had  been  entered  into.  A  tall,  slender 
stripling  then,  standing  in  strange  awe  of  his  father.  Now  he 
was  little  past  twenty. 

But  he,  clinching  his  fist  softly  in  the  darkness,  wondered  how 
deep  a  debt  he  owed  John  Hurst.  Ah,  how  short-sighted  and 
ungrateful  is  youth !  A  little  money,  he  fancied,  would  make 
it  all  straight  between  them.  And  if  he  managed  to  earn  that 
sum  and  send  it  to  them,  the  rest  of  his  time  and  his  daily  life 
would  be  his  own,  subject  to  no  scrutiny.  But  ah,  the  long 
intervening  months  ! 

The  voice  faltered  its  last  tender  cadence,  and  they  sat  silent 
in  the  dark,  her  eyes  seeming  to  wander  over  his  face  with  a 
pathetic  hungering.  Day  and  night  it  was  ever  present  to  her 
mind,  for  the  mother  vision  was  always  illumined.  But  the 
fingers  trailed  slowly  over  his,  and  a  few  foolish  tears  quietly 
dropped.  Her  son  should  have  been  a  gentleman. 

"Victor,"  she  said  presently,  and  her  voice  sounded  like  an 
angel's,  cleaving  the  darkness,  "I  think  you  will  never  regret 
the  sacrifice  you  have  made  for  my  sake." 

"Not  for  your  sake,"  almost  ungraciously.  His  heart  was 
so  sore  and  tossed  about  by  the  whirlwind  of  defeat.  "That 
my  father's  word  might  not  be  broken.  He  shall  not  say  that 
I  marred  his  good  name." 

"Thank  you  in  his  stead.  And  if  you  could  be  happy  in 
the  consciousness  of  duty — " 

"  No,  I  cannot;  at  least,  not  untii  I  am  sure  which  is  my 
duty.  If  it  is  right  to  stay  in  this  place  and  become  a  clod,  to 
stifle  all  those  keen  and  fine  aspirations, — for  something  in  my 
soul  tells  me  that  I  might  do  a  nobler  work  than  moulding  steel 
and  iron  into  various  given  shapes.  However,  it  is  all  done  ;" 
with  a  bruskness  in  his  voice.  "  I'll  wait  until  I'm  twenty-one, 


42  With  Fate  against  Him. 

and  then  no  man  shall  be  my  master.     I'll  draw  a  free  breath 
for  once." 

He  rose  and  groped  his  way  to  the  mantel,  striking  a  match 
so  savagely  that  the  phosphorus  fell  on  the  hearth  at  his  feet. 
Then  another,  and  this  time  he  lighted  the  candle. 

"Good-night;"  coldly,  going  toward  the  door. 

"Good-night;"  over  seas  of  tears  that  would  fall  unheeded 
by  her  child. 

The  dull,  smothered  fires  had  broken  out  at  last.  The  lurid 
breath  seemed  to  scorch  her  very  soul.  Would  it  have  been  if 
this  boy  had  never  known  any  guardianship  but  hers?  Ah, 
would  anything  have  been  better?  The  hard  present  was  here, 
and  if  it  carried  the  result  of  mistakes  and  failures,  lapsing  into 
it  from  that  far  past,  what  then  ?  Nothing  could  be  undone ; 
that  was  dreariest  misery  of  all ! 

So  she  sat  there  crying  softly.  Did  God  keep  watch  and 
ward  over  all,  and  heed  the  call  of  useless  ravens  ?  For  twenty 
years  she  had  been  trying  to  do  her  duty  faithfully,  and  the 
child  of  her  love,  of  her  anxious  hours  and  many  prayers, 
was  ready  to  turn  away  and  leave  her  desolate. 

After  awhile,  ten  o'clock,  perhaps,  she  heard  a  slow,  weary 
step  coming  down  the  street,  and  springing  up  lighted  her 
candle,  giving  a  glimpse  at  herself  as  she  passed  the  little 
mirror.  Not  to  see  if  her  dusky  hair  was  smooth,  or  her  plain 
collar  neat  as  usual.  But  she  pulled  out  a  little  bunch  of 
withered  madeira  blossoms,  still  sweet,  and  started  at  the  heavy 
eyes,  with  the  dark  circle  about  them  plainly  visible. 

"You  are  tired,  John,"  she  said,  with  gentle  pity,  as  he 
sank  into  a  chair. 

"The  flesh  is  weak — yes ;  and  poor  human  nature  shrinks 
from  watching  even  one  hour  with  the  Master  in  His  agony." 

He  wiped  his  pale  face  and  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Was  the  man  very  ill?" 

"Yes.  He  has  gone  to  his  last  account.  Oh,  why  will 
men  put  off  the  great  work  of  salvation  until  the  hour  of  death  ? 


With  Fate  against  Him.  43 

Why  will  they  slight  the  mercy  held  out  to  them  until  the  very 
grave  opens  to  receive  them,  and  the  jaws  of  hell  yawn  beyond  ? 
If  they  find  a  limit  to  God's  mercy,  they  have  but  themselves 
to  blame." 

"We  cannot  set  limits,"  she  returned,  gently. 

Somehow  she  pitied  these  poor  creatures  with  a  new  and 
infinite  pity  to-night.  If  she,  with  her  opportunities,  went 
groping  around  in  the  dark,  how  much  more  they? 

' '  As  the  tree  falls,  so  it  shall  lie.  There  is  no  device  in  the 
grave. " 

How  hard  and  cold  the  text  seemed,  merciless  even  !  And  yet 
this  morning  she  would  have  preached  it  without  a  misgiving. 

"  Will  you  not  have  a  cup  of  tea?"  she  asked,  timidly.  "  I 
kept  the  kettle  upon  the  coals." 

"Why  should  I  pamper  my  vile  body  to-night?  Rather  it 
should  be  fasting  and  prayer  for  those  poor  souls  possessed  by 
devils,  who  are  hourly  rushing  down  to  perdition." 

She  spread  a  napkin  over  the  table  and  brought  out  a  plate 
of  bread,  and  filled  a  glass  with  cool  water. 

"  Or  if  you  will  have  milk — "  with  a  little  hesitation. 

"No." 

He  bowed  his  head  reverently,  and  half  unconsciously  she 
followed  the  motion.  Yet  her  heart  ached  to  see  him  sit  over 
the  ascetic  meal  after  his  long  hours  of  both  mental  and  phys 
ical  strain.  Her  heart  was  so  tender  and  pitiful !  All  these 
years  of  rigid  life  had  not  hardened  it. 

"It  was  terrible  !"  he  began,  presently.  "  The  man  had  met 
with  a  shocking  accident — his  limbs  crushed  to  a  jelly,  and  the 
woman,  his  wife,  was  half  stupefied  with  liquor.  Last  winter 
they  both  came  to  the  chapel  for  awhile,  and  I  hoped  the  seed 
might  be  sown  in  good  ground.  Am  I  an  unprofitable  servant 
to  the  Master  ?" 

"You  shall  not  perplex  yourself  about  it  to-night,  dear. 
You  look  pale  and  worn ;  and  you  need  rest  for  both  body 
and  mind." 


44  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Her  voice  was  very  gentle  and  persuasive ;  and  now  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  knowing  well  that  he  would  be  too 
preoccupied  with  his  thoughts  to  find  traces  of  her  weeping. 

'"  Rest — with  the  whole  world  lying  in  wickedness  !  Do  we 
believe  God's  truth?  Are  we  shepherds  of  ruined  and  stray 
souls  ?" 

She  was  silent,  having  learned,  long  ago,  that  in  these 
nervous  and  highly-wrought  moods  no  words  could  soothe, 
and  that  quiet  was  best.  Yet  somehow  she  longed  to  stand 
beside  him  in  drooping  tenderness,  to  brush  the  straggling 
gray  hair  from  his  brow,  and  kiss  the  pale,  thin  lips. 

Between  these  two — the  man  whose  whole  soul  had  been 
given  to  the  salvation  of  his  fellow-creatures,  and  the  youth  so 
engrossed  in  wild  dreams — her  being  was  almost  rent  assunder. 
Longing  to  love  and  to  do,  they  crowded  her  out  of  their  plans 
and  aims,  leaving  the  uncounted  wealth  of  her  woman's  heart 
to  be  poured  out  uselessly.  The  cruelest  sting  of  all  was  in 
that. 

John  Hurst  was  nearing  sixty.  With  youth,  health,  and  vigor, 
he  might  have  been  prepossessing  ;  now  you  would  pass  him  by 
with  hardly  a  second  thought.  Barely  medium  height — his 
son  had  far  outstripped  him,  of  a  rather  loose,  awkward  figure — 
now  that  it  was  so  thin  and  angular.  For  the  shoulders  were 
still  broad,  though  the  chest  was  considerably  shrunken,  and 
the  coarse,  faded  black  coat  hung  loosely  over  it.  His  face 
was  closely  shaven,  and  strongly  marked.  High  cheek-bones 
that  left  great  hollows  underneath,  a  short  and  rather  thick 
nose,  deep  set,  light-gray  eyes,  and  a  forehead  somewhat  high 
and  narrow,  though  with  a  certain  boldness.  But  the  lower 
jaw  was  quite  square,  and  gave  a  dominant  expression  to  the 
face. 

It  indicated  a  strong  nature  held  in  abeyance  by  certain 
fixed  rules.  The  man's  will  was  iron,  bowing  only  to  his 
stern  conscience  and  his  religion.  He  had  cast  out  the  graces 
of  youth  as  so  many  snares  of  the  devil.  Saint  Paul  was  not 


With  Fate  against  Him.  45 

a  more  rigid  moralist,  not  more  stern  in  his  self-denials.  I 
think  he  had  come  to  fashion  himself  on  that  grand  old  model, 
with  his  own  translation  of  it.  There  remained  not  a  point 
around  which  imagination  might  play.  Every  thought,  every 
emotion  was  subjected  to  the  severest  scrutiny.  He  would 
have  plucked  out  his  right  eye,  or  cut  off  his  right  hand,  lit-!, 
erally,  if  thereby  he  might  have  served  God  the  better. 

If  you  had  brought  Victor  down  and  placed  him  beside  his 
father,  you  would  have  found  not  one  sign  of  likeness.  The 
boy  was  right — some  old  trick  of  ancestry  must  have  been 
revived  at  his  birth,  some  -mark  stronger  in  its  organization 
and  power  than  these  two  people  could  have  given  him. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WHEN  John  Hurst  placed  his  son  Victor  at  the  Norcross 
Machine  Works,  he  fancied  that  he  had  done  a  wise  thing  for 
the  boy.  They  had  been  living  at  Weareham  about  a  year,  and 
during  that  time  Victor  had  been  in  and  out  of  half  a  dozen 
situations.  He  was  quick  to  resent,  and  answered  back  with 
more  spirit  than  most  employers  admire.  The  weeks  between 
situations  were  the  happiest  time  of  all,  for  he  rambled  about 
aimlessly,  picking  up  odd  bits  of  knowledge,  but  growing 
more  wayward  and  difficult  to  manage  with  every  day. 

The  "Works"  had  won  a  good  deal  of  prestige  under  old 
Mr.  Norcross.  He  had  retired  with  a  competency  to  ease  and 
Missionary  meetings.  He  and  his  wife  took  a  great  deal  of 
interest  in  the  religious  affairs  of  all  countries,  according  to 
their  faith.  It  was  through  the  old  gentleman's  influence  that 
John  Hurst  had  come  to  Weareham. 

"A  hard-working,  self-denying  man;  just  the  one  for  a 
home  missionary.  I  think  he  would  soon  build  up  an  inter 
est  at  the  Corners.  He  is  not  one  of  your  fine  clergymen,  who 
carry  a  scented  handkerchief  in  any  miserable  hovel  to  purify 
the  air." 

Taking  the  advice,  the  Board  of  Missions,  at  their  yearly 
meeting,  had  extended  to  John  Hurst  a  call  to  come  and  labor 
among  them.  There  was  the  usual  talk  about  the  field  being 
white  for  harvest,  the  laborers  few,  the  enemy  sowing  tares, 
and  all  the  opportune  or  inopportune  figures  of  speech. 

John  Hurst  thought  he  heard  the  Master's  voice  in  it,  and 
came.  The  district  assigned  to'  him  was  the  outskirts  of  the 
factories,  where  the  ignorant,  the  poorly  paid,  the  vicious 
herded  together.  The  Church  spent  something  to  redeem 


With  Fate  against  Him.  47 

them,  the  City  and  State  still  more,  and  yet  they  were  not 
redeemed. 

John  Hurst  had  worked  among  them  for  more  than  five 
years.  They  had  promised  him  six  hundred  a  year,  but  it  was 
oftener  five.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Underwood,  his  special  clerical 
adviser,  had  a  flourishing  church  and  a  rather  stylish  parson 
age  :  Brussels  carpets,  lace  curtains,  furniture  that  combined 
both  ease  and  elegance.  His  station  demanded  it.  He  was 
much  higher  in  the  social  scale  than  his  poor  brother  in  the 
Lord.  The  elder  Norcrosses  used  to  go  and  take  tea  in  state, 
and  send  their  pastor  rich  presents.  Occasionally  they  would 
speak  of  John  Hurst. 

"An  excellent  man,  a  most  ex-cel-lent  man,"  and  the  Rev 
erend  Underwood  would  rub  his  hands  together  with  peculiar 
unction.  ' '  He  is  doing  a  good  work  among  the  poor  heathen 
at  home." 

So  they  classed  the  poor  heathen  and  Mr.  Hurst  together, 
and  let  them  go. 

John  Hurst  went  at  his  work  courageously.  Some  ten 
years  before  this,  he  thought  he  had  been  called  of  the  Lord, 
and  he  gave  up  all  expectations  of  worldly  ease  and  advance 
ment  to  follow.  What  downfall  of  blindly  climbing  hopes  there 
had  been  to  Anah  Hurst's  life  no  one  ever  knew.  A  grave,  reti 
cent  woman,  with  a  shadow  in  her  soft  eyes,  ready  to  follow 
her  husband  anywhere. 

He  felt  himself  particularly  drawn  toward  the  poor  and  igno 
rant.  He  had  very  little  pride  or  ambition,  in  a  worldly  sense, 
and  he  did  give  up»everything  for  the  cause  he  had  espoused. 
To  him  the  salvation  of  souls  was  of  earnest,  vital  importance — 
the  loss  of  them,  agony  itself.  He  just  as  much  believed  that 
a  man  dying  without  any  open  declaration  of  faith  in  Christ 
went  straight  to  perdition,  as  he  believed  in  God  himself.  He 
leaned  more  toward  the  Law  than  the  Gospel,  toward  the 
terror  than  the  mercy ;  but  it  was  because  he  was  so  fearfully 
in  earnest. 


48  With  Fate  against  Him. 

His  son's  peculiar  and  restless  habits  often  tried  him  sorely. 
He  was  a  stern  man  in  every  relation  of  life,  or  at  least  he  had 
grown  sterner  since  the  weight  of  souls  pressed  so  heavily  upon 
him.  He  barred  out  noisy  boyish  pleasures  from  the  child's 
life,  and  would  fain  have  kept  him  in  the  straight  and  narrow 
path,  but  Victor's  feet  seemed  to  have  a  fondness  for  by-paths 
and  intricate  ways. 

One  day  he  ventured  to  ask  some  advice  of  his  clerical 
brother. 

"Why  not  send  him  away  to  school,"  said  the  superior, 
absently. 

"He  has  little  taste  for  books,  and, — since  he  has  his  own 
way  to  make  in  the  world — " 

"Ah — yes,  I  see;"  stroking  his  patriarchal  beard,  thought 
fully.  '  "Some  kind  of  store  business  ;"  and  he  pondered  the 
Feasibility  of  grocer's  clerk. 

"I  cannot  keep  him  in  a  store — he  is  too  unsettled." 

"A  trade,  then,  brother  Hurst.  There's  nothing  like  a 
trade  for  boys.  It  tides  them  over  the  dangerous  years ;  for 
if  a  boy  is  bound,  there  he  must  stay.  It  gives  them  steady, 
industrious  habits." 

"Yes,"  returned  Hurst;  and  that  instant  he  decided  upon 
a  trade.  Why  had  he  not  thought  of  it  before,  in  his  per 
plexity  ? 

"And  while  I  think  of  it,  you  can't  do  a  better  thing  than 
place  him  at  the  Norcross  Works.  James  and  William  are 
both  fine  men,  fine  men,"  in  his  pompous  way,  as  if  it  had 
been  partly  through  his  instrumentality.  "And  it  is  an  excel 
lent  business.  Why,  it  is  said,"  lowering  his  voice  a  trifle, 
as  if  there  might  be  treason  in  the  admission,  "that  brother 
Norcross  began  life  without  a  dollar — and  a  good  trade.  One 
of  the  first  men  in  Weareham." 

James  Norcross  was  at  the  head  of  the  Works.  William 
did  the  travelling  and  out-of-door  business.  James  followed 
in  his  father's  footsteps,  was  a  pillar  of  the  Church,  and  orna-" 


With  Fate  against  Him.  49 

ment  of  society.  A  fine  looking  man,  with  a  strong,  shrewd, 
yet  pleasant  face.  To  him  went  John  Hurst,  and  the  contract 
was  entered  into  immediately. 

Great  was  the  anger  and  indignation  of  Victor. 

"  At  least  you  might  have  chosen  something  decently  clean," 
he  flung  out,  disrespectfully.  "  I  hate  it !  I  never  will  go  !" 

"You  know  nothing  about  it,"  was  the  stern  rejoinder.  "  I 
am  the  proper  one  to  choose  for  you." 

I  think,  but  for  his  mother's  sake,  Victor  Hurst  would  have 
run  away.  He  loved  her  passionately  at  that  time,  and  her 
grief  and  suffering  won  from  him  what  his  father's  commands 
could  not  have  done — acquiescence.  Not  without  a  hard 
struggle,  however. 

She  had  interceded  for  her  bpy  as  mothers  rarely  do. 

"  Anah,"  he  said,  with  a  quiet  resolve  that  somehow  always 
awed  her,  "let  me  decide  this  matter.  Do  you  think  that  I  have 
not  the  boy's  good  at  heart  ?  Another  year  of  such  life  as  he 
has  been  leading  would  be  the  ruin  of  him.  He  is  wilful, 
headstrong ;  chooses  his  associates  from  among  the  most 
lawless,  and  in  a  little  while  will  defy  any  authority.  I  have 
yielded  to  you  in  many  other  things  which  have  not  been  for 
his  good,  as  you  have  plainly  seen.  Will  you  help  him  on 
the  downward  path  ?" 

"  Oh,  John,  let  us  try  once  more,  once  more.  Perhaps  I 
understand  him  better.  I  am  his  mother — " 

Her  eyes  overflowed  with  tears,  and  drooped  with  apparent 
shame  as  John  Hurst  turned  his  own  full  upon  her. 

"Will  you  let  me  save  him  or  not?"  and  his  voice  seemed 
to  fall  on  her  heart  like  drops  of  molten  lead,  withering,  crush 
ing.  "You  know  what  I  said  then,  Anah  I  Have  I  not  kept 
my  word  ?  Have  I  not  done  all  things  in  my  power  for  your 
sake  ?  And  now  choose  this  day  whom  he  shall  serve.  If  it  is 
God  and  the  right,  so  far  as  in  you  lies,  I  will  help  to  my 
utmost ;  if  not,  I  wash  my  hands  of  him. .  Let  your  foolish 
indulgence  rescue  him  if  it  can." 


5o  With  Fate  against  Him. 

She  remembered  her  past,  and  what  he  had  done  for  her.  If 
the  boy  had  been  different,  what  delight  would  he  not  have 
taken  in  him  !  It  was  Victor  who  had  made  the  first  disturb 
ance,  and  surely  in  all  those  early  years  John  Hurst  had 
been  very  patient  with  him.  If  the  lad  came  to  ruin  now — • 
through  her  weak  love.  She  seemed  to  understand  so  little  of 
men's  natures,  she  knew  next  to  nothing  of  the  temptations 
outside.  John  was  among  them  every  day,  in  hovels,  taverns, 
prisons.  And  oh,  most  of  all,  she  wanted  her  boy  clean  and 
pure,  as  white  in  soul  as  John  Hurst. 

' '  Do  what  is  best, "  she  answered,  humbly  ;  and  then  she  set 
herself  to  work  to  smooth  over  the  path  for  her  child,  and  per 
suade  him  to  yield. 

There  was  one  curious  thing  in  it  all  that  Victor  Hurst  could 
not  explain  even  now.  He  had  always  felt  afraid  of  his  father 
when  it  came  to  an  open  struggle;  but  John  Hurst  had  never 
struck  the  lad,  as  he  himself  bore  witness.  The  power  was 
something  deeper  than  any  physical  force. 

Victor  yielded  sullenly.  He  had  no  choice  of  trades  or  place. 
I  am  not  sure  but  he  would  have  been  better  satisfied  with  a 
peddler's  pack  and  freedom.'  But  all  these  years  the  slow  general 
dislike  had  been  culminating  into  a  special  hatred.  Because 
Norcross  was  a  gentleman,  it  did  not  follow  that  his  workmen 
were.  Now  and  then  some  choice  hand  came  from  over  the 
water,  with  old-world  ways,  like  Connor  and  Garrick ;  the  latter 
of  whom  hardly  had  his  equal  in  the  country  for  tempering  steel. 

Victor  tried  to  keep  in  with  his  boyish  friends  at  first,  but  his 
father's  keen  surveillance  was  too  much.  If  he  remained  out 
late  of  an  evening,  both  parents  sat  up  until  the  hour  of  his 
return.  Once  John  Hurst  had  fetched  him  home  from  a 
roystering  company  of  card-players.  Well  for  him,  perhaps,  as 
some  of  the  crowd  found  themselves  in  jail  before  daylight. 

And  then  came  a  brief  change.  One  of  those  spasmodic 
revivals  which  sweep  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land  drew 
Victor  Hurst  in  its  current.  For  awhile  his  mother  was  almost 


With  Fate  against  Him.  5i 

in  heaven.  She  had  never  known  so  sweet  a  satisfaction  in  her 
whole  life. 

Was  the  creed  too  narrow,  that  he  outgrew  it  so  soon  ?  For 
the  hymns,  and  prayers,  and  sermons  lost  their  power ;  and 
after  that  a  dread  and  terrible  vacuity  fell  upon  him.  Every 
thing  failed  to  charm.  The  fires  of  the  soul  roused  for  an 
instant,  and  then,  unemployed,  burned  sullenly,  leaving  a 
blackened  desert  waste. 

From  that  time  the  rebellion  had  gone  on  gaining  strength. 
But  one  favorable  feature  in  it  was  that  he  outgrew  the  old 
companions  as  well.  A  new  and  finer  sense  seemed  springing 
up  within  him  ;  but  with  every  day's  unfolding,  his  toil,  from 
being  simply  distasteful,  became  an  abhorrence. 

So  he  had  made  another  struggle  and  failed.  He  thought 
it  over  bitterly  in  the  silence  of  his  room.  Was  there  some  fate 
to  step  in  always?  But  he  had  given  fair  warning  now.  Next 
May  he  would  be  a  free  man,  and  August  was  half  gone. 

Out  here,  in  this  half  country-place,  the  night  dews  soon 
cooled  the  air  and  the  roofs  of  the  houses.  Soft  airs  went 
wandering  by,  sentient  with  a  life  that  touched  him,  and  that 
he  could  not  understand,  which  perplexed  him  from  its  vast- 
ness,  its  underlying  strand  of  solemn  yet  exquisite  pleasures. 

Presently,  he  shook  out  a  roll  of  drawings.  Not  valves,  and 
pistons,  and  wheels,  and  rings — his  taste  did  not  run  that  way. 
Some  quaint  severe  studies— a  massive  arm  and  clinched  swell 
ing  fist,  a  shapely  ankle  and  foot,  a  few  faces  rude  almost  to 
savageness,  but  wonderfully  expressive. 

"No,  I'm  not  a  genius,"  he  commented,  with  a  kind  of 
regal  scorn.  "But  if  I  could  have  a  fair  chance — if  the 
world  does  not  crowd  me  too  hard — yes,  the  only  salvation  is 
to  go  away." 

He  took  up  his  pencil,  but  did  not  draw  any.  It  fell  from 
his  listless  fingers  presently,  and  the  delicate  chin  dropped 
upon  his  breast,  the  eyes  wandering  far  off  into  some  visionary 
future.  For  the  soul  that  stirred  within  him  seemed  so  strong, 


52  With  Fate  against  Him. 

so  capable.  If  there  was  only  a  place  in  which  to  begin  !  If 
he  had  been  some  other  man's  son,  with  the  birthright  of  wealth 
and  culture  ! 

He  scarcely  stirred  until  he  heard  his  father  enter.  The 
low  hum  of  voices  floated  up  to  him,  and  once  he  rose,  walk 
ing  slowly  toward  the  window.  The  vast,  silent  night  brooded 
over  all.  Millions  of  stars  that  might  be  worlds  trembled  in 
infinite  space.  Did  God  hold  them  all  in  the  hollow  of  His 
hand  ?  Was  there  any  power  great  enough  for  that ;  and  if 
so,  would  this  wonderful  possessor  of  all  knowledge  trouble 
Himself  about  the  paltry  concerns  of  human  beings  here,  and 
the  low,  vile  souls  down  in  Kent's  Lane  ?  Did  He  demand 
that  any  other  life  should  be  spent  in  the  useless  effort  of 
humanizing  them — just  as  John  Hurst  was  doing?  For  he 
remembered  hearing  his  mother  say  once,  that  his  father  had 
given  up  a  good  business  to  become  a  minister. 

Victor  slept  rather  late  the  next  morning,  and  was  aroused 
by  his  mother's  voice.  When  he  entered  the  tidy  kitchen  his 
father  was  in  his  place  by  the  small  stand,  an  open  Bible  before 
him.  The  same  old  life,  with  nothing  unchanged  in  it. 

The  morning  prayer,  simple,  touching  in  its  fervor ;  for  the 
man  was  earnest  and  honest.  No  one  was  forgotten — the  son 
in  the  family  circle,  the  souls  stranded  on  desert  shores  per 
ishing  by  hundreds,  and  grace  for  his  own,  lest  after  having 
preached  to  others  he  himself  might  become  a  castaway. 

Anah  Hurst  poured  the  coffee,  and  waited  upon  the  table 
with  a  sweet,  silent  grace.  She  seemed  very  beautiful  to  Victor 
this  morning,  though  she  was  paler  than  usual. 

"Where  is  your  napkin  ?"  she  asked,  presently,  not  finding 
it  in  the  basket. 

"Oh — "  and  he  remembered  the  outburst  of  yesterday. 
"  I  did  not  bring  it  home.  Never  mind  my  lunch,  mother.  I 
do  not  want  any." 

"  Why?"  And  she  glanced  up  with  a  strange  misgiving. 

"It  is  too  warm  to  eat  at  noon." 


With  Fate  against  Him.  63 

"  But  to  wait  all  day — "  and  the  mother's  heart  was  seized 
with  a  chill  foreboding. 

"I  can't  eat  it;"  and  the  emphasis  was  impatient,  though 
he  did  not  mean  it  to  be  so. 

John  Hurst  took  a  slow  survey  of  his  son,  and  for  a  moment 
appeared  to  be  on  the  verge  of  speaking,  then  checked  himself 
and  was  silent. 

"  If  I  want  anything,  I  will  buy  a  few  crackers,"  said  Victor. 

Just  at  the  door  he  turned  back  and  gave  his  mother  a  glance. 
If  she  could  have  seen  what  was  in  his  heart,  she  need  not 
have  shivered  with  such  deadly  fear. 

"Good-morning." 

No  tender  kiss,  no  little  fondness  between  the  mother  and 
child.  Was  it  right?  Did  God  demand  the  sacrifice  of  all 
human  love? 

Was  it  God?  When  she  allowed  John  Hurst  to  interpret  His 
teaching,  and  resigned  herself  to  a  guidance  she  thought  so 
much  wiser  than  her  own,  was  she  not  disloyal  to  something 
higher  than  man's  interpretation  ?  And  farther  back — had  she 
elected  rightly  in  the  choice  of  this  child's  father  ? 

For  it  had  come  to  this,  that  father  and  son  were  drifting 
wider  apart  with  every  day  that  passed.  To  which  should  she 
cling  ?  Ah,  if  it  came  to  that — 

"  Anah,"her  husband  said,  "after  your  dishes  are  put  away, 
get  your  bonnet  and  walk  down  to  Kent's  Lane  with  me.  They 
need  a  woman's  hands  in  that  God-forsaken  place,  and  a 
woman's  voice  might  find  its  way  to  souls  that  I  cannot 
reach." 

She  was  sore-hearted  and  weary  herself,  longing  for  some 
tender  words — how,  then,  should  she  comfort  others  ?  And 
the  anchor  to  which  her  faith  had  been  securely  bound  these 
many  years,  had  slipped  its  moorings,  dragging  her  over  rough 
rock  and  shifting  sands. 

"Not  this  morning,"  she  said,  with  a  strange  tremor  in  hei 
voice. 


54  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"Is  not  God's  work  of  more  importance  than  ours?"  in  a 
slow,  grave  tone. 

"It  is  not  that,  not  that,"  wanderingly,  as  if  the  sound  of 
her  own  voice  amazed  her.  "But  I  am  not  well;"  with  a 
shiver. 

He  guessed  that  she  was  fretting  inwardly  because  Victor 
had  refused  his  lunch.  If  it  had  been  from  any  other  cause 
he  might  have  endeavored  to  persuade. 

"Well,"  with  a-kind  of  wounded  gravity,  "I  will  do  my 
best  alone." 

And  then  he  went  out.  She  watched  him  down  the  street, 
shambling  awkwardly  along.  Anah  Hurst  was  in  a  peculiarly 
sensitive  mood  this  morning.  It  seemed  to  jar  upon  some 
nice  sense  or  old  remembrance  of  better  times.  Quite  an  old 
man  already,  and  losing  the  vigor  that  once  characterized  him. 
Again  the  thought  entered  her  mind — had  she  done  wisely  in 
marrying  John  Hurst  ?  If  it  came  to  an  open  issue,  which 
would  be  dearer,  husband  or  child  ? 

She  went  around  in  a  wear)',  listless  fashion.  A  cloud 
appeared  to  overshadow  her  ;  something  awesome  and  intan 
gible.  The  poor  helpless,  souls  down  in  Kent's  Lane  were  as 
nothing  to  her  to-day. 

She  had  just  spread  up  Victor's  bed,  and  was  tenderly  caress 
ing  the  branch  of  woodbine  that  he  was  training  round  the 
window  inside,  many  shades  paler  than  its  wild,  riotous  com 
panions  without,  when  a  quick,  manful  step  startled  her.  She 
glanced  down — he  looked  up  and  smiled.  In  another  instant 
he  had  mounted  the  stairs. 

"Victor!"  ' 

But  the  fresh,  eager  face  was  not  one  to  create  alarm.  No 
fatal  conspiracy  was  hidden  in  these  genial  lines. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  he  exclaimed  with  a  boy's  eagerness. 
"  I'm  glad  of  the  holiday,  for  it  would  have  half  killed  me 
to  go  on." 

"  But  what  has  happened  ?" 


With  Fate  against  Him.  55 

"Oh  !"  and  he  tried  to  look  grave  because  he  thought  he 
must.  "Old  Mr.  Norcross  died  last  night,  and  is  to  be 
buried  to-morrow.  The  Works  will  be  shut  up  for  two  days." 

"And  you — t" 

"  I  am  going  off  for  a  ramble — where,  I  cannot  tell.  Nay, 
do  not  look  disquieted.  I  shall  do  nothing  that  will  shock 
you.  I  want  to  run  off  to  the  mountains  for  a  breath  of  fresh, 
free  air.  Put  me  up  a  little  bread — anything  you  may  happen 
to  have — and  to-morrow  night  you  will  see  me  again." 

It  had  been  so  long  since  he  had  worn  such  a  smile.  The 
old  gloomy  frown  was  a  thing  of  the  past,  dropped  with  the 
work-day  world. 

"And  you  are  glad  to  go?"  with  a  touching  sadness  in  her 
tone. 

"Glad  !"  He  came  nearer,  placed  his  hands  gently  upon 
her  shoulders,  she  realizing  with  a  little  pang  how  very  far  he 
had  outgrown  her.  And  then  a  kind  of  confused  flush  suf 
fused  his  face. 

"Yes,  I  am  glad  1  You  do  not  want  me  to  tell  an  untruth 
about  it.  Should  I  be  the  happier  for  staying  here  .in  a  gloomy 
frame  of  mind  because — because  a  man  is  dead  ?  If  his  faith 
was  true,  he  is  better  in  heaven  to-day  ;  and  then  he  was  an 
old  man.  But  life  and  freedom  are  sweet  to  me,  so  let  me 
enjoy  them  in  my  rare  holiday." 

"I  will  not  persuade  you  to  stay;"  and  she  choked  down 
the  great  throb  of  pain  in  her  throat.  "But  you  will  come 
back  ?" 

"I  promised  you  last  night,"  he  said,  huskily.  "I  had  a 
hard  fight  with  rrjy  'familiar,'"  and  his  voice  dropped  still 
lower.  "I  told  you  that  my  father  should  have  no  cause  to 
condemn  me  in  thai  matter.  So  I  shall  return  to-morrow  night." 

She  went  down  stairs.  He  threw  off  his  gray  blouse  with  an 
air  of  disdain,  and  habited  himself  in  last  night's  attire.  A 
small  roll  of  paper,  a  pencil,  and  note-book  were  thrust  into  a 
travelling  satchel.  Then  he  rejoined  his  mother. 


56  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"There  is  so  little,"  she  said,  regretfully.  "  If  I  had 
known — " 

"A  crust  of  bread  will  taste  good  out  there  under  the  trees, 
flavored  with  freedom.     It  is  sufficient." 
.He  packed  it  in  and  shut  the  clasp  with  a  sharp  click. 

"  Good-by — nothing  will  happen  to  me,  save  that  I  shall  be 
the  better  for  the  change." 

He  flung  the  strap  over  his  shoulder,  and  stooping,  gave 
her  a  long,  tender  kiss, — so  sudden,  so  sweet,  that  it  brought 
the  tears  to  her  eyes. 

"I  am  an  ungrateful  dog,"  he  exclaimed,  vehemently. 
"You  do  love  me.  Mother  !  Mother  !" 

The  words  still  rang  in  her  ears  as  she  saw  him  striding  over 
toward  the  woods,  a  young  Apollo,  the  sun  glinting  on  his 
tawny  hair,  his  limbs  strong,  supple,  graceful,  his  step  light, 
his  whole  air  joyous  as  a  bird.  And  an  hour's  freedom  had 
so  changed  him. 

Oh,  God  !  what  if  he  had  been  born  free  I 


CHAPTER  V. 

AN  hour's  freedom  !  The  first  perfect  holiday  of  his  life 
lather.  For  over  such  anniversaries  as  Christmas,  New  Year, 
Thanksgiving,  and  Fourth  of  July,  John  Hurst  had  hitherto 
kept  strict  watch.  He  labored  for  this  child's  soul  with  an 
earnestness  that  could  hardly  have  failed  to  touch  an  older  per 
son.  But  the  seeds  of  heathenism  spring  up  apace  in  youth  ; 
and  perhaps,  having  once  turned  from  the  narrow  way  in  a  kind 
of  disgust,  it  left  him  in  a  mood  for  the  license  of  the  fascinat 
ing  broad  path. 

When  he  listened  to  the  announcement  of  the  death,  his 
first  thought  was  what  he  should  do  with  the  two  days ;  his 
second,  a  decision.  He  would  go  off  to  solitude.  Not  al 
together  in  the  fashion  of  the  monks  of  old — there  should  be 
little  fasting  or  praying,  but  much  enjoyment.  No  narrow 
bounds  to  chafe  against,  no  measured  words  to  rasp  the  sensi 
tive  nerves  of  his  soul  with  every-day  practical  uses.  None  of 
his  kind  even,  for  Victor  Hurst  had  reached  that  morbid,  mis 
anthropic  state  where  he  fancied  that  his  fellow-creatures  were 
all  in  league  against  him.  Youth  so  often  mistakes  self-torture 
for  heroism. 

He  plunged  into  the  wood,  cleared  of  its  under-brush  by  the 
continual  forays  of  gleaning.  He  took  the  direct  path  through, 
and  traversed  the.  open  country  until  he  reached  the  foot  of 
the  range  of  mountains,  merely  high  hills  at  this  point,  but 
breaking  the  scenery  for  miles  beyond  with  their  purple  crest. 
Through  the  next  valley  flowed  a  river,  a  lovely  stream  empty 
ing  miles  farther  on  into  the  Susquehanna.  He  wanted  to  see 
the  place  once  again. 


58  With  Fate  against  Him. 

The  day  was  less  scorching  than  the  preceding  one.  A  soft 
gray  under-roof  of  cloud  lingered  above  the  tree-tops  in  hazy 
tenderness,  yet  our  traveller  was  warm  and  tired.  It  was  noon 
already,  so  he  sat  down  to  rest,  plucking  some  half-ripe  sum 
mer  grapes,  the  acid  quenching  his  thirst.  The  winding  road 
lay  like  a  silver  cord  between  the  masses  of  foliage  on  either 
side,  the  sunshine  now  and  then  straggling  through  in  dim, 
golden  lights.  There  was  the  cool  plashing  of  a  stream  at 
some  little  distance,  coming  faintly  to  his  ears  on  the  low 
wind.  Squirrels  ran  in  and  out  and  chattered  with  an  amus 
ing  air  of  importance,  a  cricket  began  to  chirp  at  his  feet,  and 
myriads  of  tiny  insects  swung  in  the  soft  woodland  mosses,  or 
drowsed  in  some  tiny  flower-cup. 

!  It  was  so  different  from  the  world  down  yonder !  He  could 
believe  in  a  God  out  here — he  had  lapsed  that  far  into  hea 
thenism  that  he  had  begun  to  question  the  existence  of  a  Su 
preme  Being ;  but  here  he  saw  His  handiwork,  His  majesty,  as 
if  it  was  not  writ  in  the  souls  of  those  who  grovelled  in  the 
valley! 

After  awhile  he  took  the  bread  out  of  his  knapsack,  for  to 
day  he  was  hungry.  A  bird  hopped  up  the  rich  turf  at  his 
feet,  and  he  threw  her  some  crumbs,  laughing  at  the  manner 
in  which  she  turned  one  eye  upon  him. 

Hark  !  what  was  that  ? 

For  a  gale  of  melody  quivered  through  the  trees — something 
that  was  not  summer  wind  blown  about,  nor  voices  of  dryads 
disporting  themselves.  A  tremble  of  exquisite  sound,  at  which 
the  wind  paused  to  find  itself  mocked,  the  leaves  stood  still 
and  questioned  each  other  mutely,  and  the  distant  brook 
ceased  to  babble  for  very  shame. 

Had  Victor  Hurst  been  better  read  in  mythological  lore  he 
might  have  dreamed  himself  into  an  Arcadian  trance  ;  as  it 
was,  he  sprang  up  and  listened,  placing  his  hand  behind  his 
ear  and  bending  his  head,  which  had  the  pose  an  artist  would 
have  loved,  a  kingly  Titan  head,  with  its  cloud  of  tawny  hair. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  5 9 

"A  wanderer  like  myself,  mayhap,  but  oh,  the  voice  of 
music  !  Was  ever  sound  so  sweet?" 

As  he  listened  it  seemed  to  grow  nearer  and  more  distinct. 
*~~-r*  Nothing  save  a  violin  could  so  translate  the  fine  harmonies  of 
ft"  nature,  thrilling  the  spaces  with  a  half  human  voice.  Now  it 
was  a  lark  "  singing  at  heaven's  gate,"  anon  a  rustle  of  sum 
mer  wind  through  the  pines,  and  then  the  careless  trill  of 
happy  song. 

"I  must  find  him  !"  Victor  exclaimed  ;  his  face  aglow  with 
interest. 

With  that  he  thrust  the  unfinished  bread  back  into  its  recep 
tacle,  and  the  bunch  of  unripe  grapes.  Hunger,  thirst,  and 
the  morbid  distaste  of  his,  kind  vanished  at  once. 

Guided  by  the  sound,  he  began  to  climb,  having  first  cut  a 
stout  walking-stick.  His  ear  was  wonderfully  acute,  and  he 
could  tell  in  a  few  moments  whether  he  swerved  to  the  right 
or  to  the  left. 

Presently  the  melody  ceased,  but  he  still  kept  on.  Through 
tangled  wilds,  luxuriant  growth  of  rankest  vines,  and  a  few 
stray  blossoming  creepers  with  clusters  of  gorgeous  flowers. 
Great  rugged  tree-trunks  covered  with  festoons  of  bearded 
moss,  or  graceful  hangings  of  some  glossy  parasite.  Now  and 
then  a  swaying  branch  lurched  in  his  face,  or  a  too  familiar 
thorn  caught  him  in  its  untender  embrace.  Nearer  the  top, 
vegetation  grew  less  dense. 

He  gave  a  long,  clear  whistle  that  went  trilling  into  the 
hollows,  breaking  into  a  hundred  lingering  echoes. 

The  sound  of  the  violin  reassured  him.  Farther  down  on 
the  brow  of  the  mountain — he  had  gone  a  little  astray  without 
a  guide.  But  he  trudged  on  with  the  vigor  that  so  charac 
terized  the  man.  Nearer,  nearer. 

"  Hillo,  comrade  !" 

A  laughing  voice,  hardly  less  musical  than  the  sound 
evoked  by  skilful  fingers.  Through  an  opening  he  espied  a 
figure  reclining  against  a  moss-covered  oak. 


60  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Victor  stopped  short,  and  colored,  partly  with  pleasure, 
partly  with  embarrassment. 

"Advance,  comrade,"  and  the  other  half  rose.  There  was 
a  curious  beguiling  strand  in  his  voice.  Victor  flushed  boy 
ishly  and  still  hesitated. 

' '  No  Orpheus,  you  see,  unless  I  have  won  my  Eurydice  of 
the  other  sex.  Not  even  the  Pied  Piper  ;  for  only  a  few  squir 
rels  and  one  stray  bird  have  responded." 

"I  heard  the  sound  and  followed,"  Victor  said,  half  in 
apology. 

"Thank  you,''  laughingly.  "Sit  down.  My  sofas  are 
luxuriant  and  covered  with  richest  velvet.  What  can  a  king 
have  that  is  lovelier?" 

Victor  glanced  around,  his  eyes  drooping  bashfully  at  the 
speaker,  who  seemed  less,  and  yet  more  than  a  man  ;  a  kind 
of  unreal  or  fabulous  personage. 

A  peculiar  face  and  figure,  its  chief  attribute  being  a  won 
derful,  indolent  grace.  At  the  utmost  he  would  be  barely 
medium  size,  though  his  limbs  were  in  perfect,  harmonious 
proportion.  The  head  was  rather  aristocratic,  and  the  delicate 
face  was  one  whose  beauty  grew  upon  you,  though  your  first 
verdict  would  be  against  its  apparent  effeminacy.  The  features 
were  finely  cut,  mobile,  changing  with  every  mood  of  their 
owner,  when  he  chose,  and  none  could  be  more  reticent  when 
the  whim  took  him.  The  brow  was  that  of  a  poet,  the  eyes 
large,  soft,  dreamy,  wells  of  shady  darkness,  but  infinitely 
tender,  and  with  a  glimpse  of  rare  humor  that  might  make 
him  a  satirist,  but  too  generous  ever  to  be  bitter.  There  was 
a  delicate  mockery  in  every  feature ;  in  the  smile,  and  you 
could  detect  it  in  the  voice  if  you  listened  warily,  yet  it  was 
not  that  of  scorn  or  contempt ;  rather  a  genial  sparkle,  like 
that  of  the  bead  to  wine. 

Victor's  first  feeling  was  one  of  surprise,  his  next,  a  faint 
sense  of  disappointment.  In  his  vague  and  undefined  hunger, 
he  fancied  that  it  was  strength  and  not  weakness  which  his 
soul  needed  to  satisfy  its  craving. 


With  Fate  against  Hint.  61 

The  other  smiled  inwardly  at  the  stranger's  perplexity,  and 
the  crudeness  written  upon  the  vigorous  but  immature  face, 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said  again.  "  You  are  warm  and  tired,  and 
this  is  a  little  Eden — without  the  serpent.  It  was  not  all  a 
myth,  the  old  story.  In  the  general  wreck,  fragments  of 
beauty  have  been  saved,  and  blossom  as  purely  as  in  that  far 
land.  You  like  the  music,  I  think  !" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  drew  the  bow  across  the 
strings,  evoking  a  faint,  wandering  strain  that  grew  stronger  as 
it  thrilled  through  the  leafy  arches. 

If  he  was  sounding  the  depths  of  the  unformed  boyish  soul, 
he  could  hardly  have  touched  more  pathetic  chords.  Perhaps 
he  guessed ;  for  in  their  idle  babble  floated  the  melody  of  the 
distant  stream,  the  voice  of  the  whispering  wind,  and  the  even 
song  of  birds,  with  an  under-current  of  pathos  akin  to  pain, 
forceful  touches  that  seemed  to  penetrate  all  the  dim  and 
hidden  recesses  of  one's  being  ;  a  vague,  haunting  sorrow  that 
presently  became  a  most  exquisite  torture. 

"Not  that,"  Victor  cried  in  a  tone  of  passionate  pain.  "It 
goes  too  deep,  it  is  too  true." 

"Did  I  hurt  you?  Forgive  me.  There  is  a  voice  in  it 
that  will  out  sometimes,  speaking  through  unguided  fingers. 
Listen  to  this." 

A  gay  little  French  chanson,  with  a  rush  and  a  ring  that 
made  the  very  air  laugh  in  echo.  He  let  the  last  note  drop 
down  amid  the  mosses  and  wild-flowers. 

"  That  is  better,  perhaps,  for  to-night  I  play  for  peasants  to 
dance,  dreaming  of  their  vineyards  and  olives,  their  black  bread 
and  wine.  Will  you  bear  a  hand,  comrade  ?  Paul  Latour  at 
your  service  —  a  Bohemian  of  the  Bohemians.  Though  why 
an  industrious,  stay-at-home  people  should  be  thus  libelled,  I 
cannot  imagine.  I  like  the  old  graceful  and  graceless  "vag 
abond,  better." 

"Where  do  you  find  peasants?"  asked  Victor  in  amaze. 

"At  Bohmerwald,  a  dozen  miles  or  so  down  the  river." 

"A  settlement  of — " 


6^  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"  Bona  fide  Bohemians  that  put  our  vagrant  habits  to  shame. 
The  women  sing  as  they  cut  grain  with  a  sickle,  having  learned 
nothing  by  the  march  of  improvement,  poor  things  !" 

Victor  had  heard  of  the  place,  but  thus  far  his  travels  had 
been  necessarily  restricted.  Dancing  and  a  violin  !  Why  it 
would  be  going  straight  to  the  evil  one  !  A  smile  crossed  his 
scarlet  lips. 

Latour  answered  it. 

"You  will  go?  After  a  week's  solitude  a  companion  will 
be  an  agreeable  change." 

"I  have  a  brief  holiday.  If  I  could  be  back  to-morrow 
night" — hesitatingly.  "But  you  know  nothing  about  me," 
in  surprise. 

"I  have  no  money  of  which  to  be  robbed,  and  if  I  were 
murdered  I  should  die  with  the  consolation  that  I  had  been 
spared  an  uncomfortable  old  age.  But  you  look  honest 
enough,  comrade.  As  for  the  rest — it  is  not  worth  a  thought  ; 
and  he  laughed  gayly.  "Who  needs  vouchers*  for  respect 
ability  out  here  in  the  woods  ?  I  am  a  vagabond  myself! 

"  I  am  a  merry  beggar, 

And  a  beggar  I  was  born, 
Tossed  about  the  wide  world 
From  evening  until  morn." 

The  voice  in  which  he  sang  this  was  rich  and  mellow,  and 
he  ended  with  a  peal  of  merriment  that  rippled  down  the 
hill-side  in  entrancing  echoes. 

To  Victor  the  whole  thing  had  the  suggestion  of  an  adven 
ture.  As  well  watch  peasants  dance  as  to  be  sleeping  in  the 
wood. 

"  Come.  A  crumb  is  as  good  as  a  feast  sometimes,  pro 
vided  it  have  the  right  flavor.  You  shall  be  back  to-morrow 
night — there  is  my  hand  upon  it." 

He  reached  out  a  small,  girlish  hand,  but  sun-burned  to  a 
point  beyond  his  olive  skin. 

"I  will  go  with  you." 


With  Fate  against  Him.  63 

"  Good.  My  boat  lies  down  at  the  river's  edge.  It  is  past 
noon  I  believe,  and  the  last  of  my  luncheon  was  left  farther  up 
the  hill  for  the  squirrels.  Enough  was  the  feast,  and  to-night 
provides  for  itself." 

"I  have  lunched,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

"Shall  we  find  our  way  down  the  mountain,  then?  We  can 
drowse  and  dream  in  the  boat. " 

' '  As  you  like. " 

Latour  rose  with  graceful  agility.  Yet  Victor  smiled  oddly, 
— it  seemed  as  if  he  might  have  perched  the  other  on  his 
shoulder  and  scarcely  felt  the  weight.  i  * 

"You  are  not  a  stranger  here?"  with  a  ifoft  questioning 
glance.  ' 

"No;"  blushing,  "I  live  in  the  town  beyond — I  almost 
think  you  can  see  its  black  smoke  going  up  to  heaven  as  an 
abomination." 

"You  do  not  like  the  life  down  there?"  in  a  peculiar  tone. 

"  Like  it !  Does  a  man  choose  slavery  of  his  own  free  will?" 
grinding  his  heel  into  the  soft  mosses,  and  crushing  out 
swarms  of  insect  life. 

"There  have  been  such  anomalies,  my  friend.  A  regular 
life  mapped  out  by  hours  :  so  much  work,  so  much  sleep,  so 
much  eating  of  fine  bread  and  the  fat  of  lambs,  so  much  purple 
and  linen,  and  one  travels  by  easy  stages  to  the  grave.  The 
white  marble  over  you  vouches  for  your  respectability." 

A  light,  ironical  smile  hovered  about  the  lips,  playing 
through  the  fine  beard  like  some  far  ray  of  summer  lightning. 

"  The  purple  may  make  one  more  content.  But  when  it  is 
serge  and  a  crust — " 

He  paused  with  an  abrupt,  impatient  gesture. 

"That  means — not  a  stiver  to  lose — a  toss-up  either  way. 
Then  I  should  take  the  freedom,"  glancing  at  him  with  keen 
eyes.  "  Why  so  brief  a  holiday  ?" 

"With  me  it  is  another  man's  honor,  another  man's  word  ;" 
giving  a  short,  uncadcnced  laugh,  that  had  in  it  the  roused, 


64  With  Fate  against  Him. 

almost  tigerish  mood.  "I  go  back  because  I  must.  Some 
chains  never  clank,  you  know,  but  they  do  worse." 

"And  you  pay  in  groans  for  superior  civilization  !  See  what 
it  is  to  have  been -born  a  vagabond  !" 

With  that  he  touched  the  violin  again,  and  carolled  a  brief 
snatch  of  Goethe's  mill-song. 

' '  Let  us  sing  with  the  birds,  my  friend,  before  the  next  storm 
drenches  us,  and  drives  us  to  silence.  And  now,  I  bethink  my 
self,  that  it  is  time  to  move  on.  Down  this  path,  I  believe. 
You  know  the  way  ?" 

"I  have  rambled  over  it  a  few  times,"  with  boyish  hesitancy. 

Latour  vaulted  over  rocks,  fallen  trees,  and  matted  under 
growth,  as  if  he  had  been  a  practised  gymnast.  Victor  was 
not  far  behind.  But  Latour  broke  into  a  wild  gipsy  chorus, 
while  the  other  kept  the  silence  of  wonder.  Something  in  the 
man  won  upon  him  curiously.  Perhaps  a  touch  of  the  free 
life  as  well. 

They  reached  the  shore  ere  long.  The  river  widening  in 
and  out  among  the  tall  hills,  its  cool  green  taking  tint  from  the 
overhanging  foliage.  In  a  sheltered  nook  lay  a  tiny  bark 
moored  to  a  broken  stump. 

"Embark,  my  friend.  I  cannot  promise  you  Grecian  isles, 
or  groves  of  Admetus,  but  the  place  is  not  deficient  in  beauty. 
It  needs  only  the  old  gods ;  but  when  Pan  died,  they  vanished. 
Are  the  idols  of  gold  and  silver  so  much  better,  that  men  drain 
out  their  life-blood  for  them  ?" 

Victor  flushed  swarthily  in  shame,  and  a  consciousness  of 
ignorance.  Ah,  if  he  could  leave  that  old  life  behind  ! 

They  both  stepped  in.     Latour  took  the  oars. 

"  No,  let  me,  if  I  shall  not  distress  you  by  my  awkwardness. 
I  like  it." 

Latour  seated  himself  in  the  stern,  and  laid  his  violin  across 
his  lap  as  if  it  had  been  a  tender  human  nursling.  For  an 
instant,  he  almost  envied  the  tawny  Titan  facing  him,  whose 
bright  locks  shook  off  glinting  lights  on  the  purple  river  air. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  65 

Not  a  coarse  fibre  in  that  brain,  no  craven  blood  in  those  full, 
throbbing  veins. 

"  And  such  souls  are  coined  into  gold  for  grasping  masters !'' 
he  mused.  "  Do  they  never  dare  break  the  chains  forged  by 
custom  ?" 

The  breeze  died  away — the  river  valley  was  profoundly  still. 
On  the  one  side,  a  series  of  hills  rising  one  above  the  other ; 
here  gray  and  craggy  with  a  faded  growth  of  rock-moss, 
browned  by  the  sun  ;  there,  in  soft  quivering  lights,  the  wooden 
clumps  creeping  closer  and  stretching  out  long  green  arms. 
Far  nooks  in  black  shadow,  a  dead  tree  rising  high  and  grim, 
rent  and  blackened  by  some  fearful  storm,  jutting  boldly  out, 
flaunting  the  old  tale  of  the  nearness  of  death  in  the  face  of  the 
few  passers-by.  The  oar  plashing  into  the  resisting  waters, 
making  circles  of  foam  and  bringing  into  life  thousands  of 
fantastic  echoes  farther  up  the  stream,  as  if  wood-nymphs  were 
holding  high  carnival. 

"My  friend,  you  take  life  too  hard,"  Latour  exclaimed, 
coming  out  of  his  reverie.  "  For  the  rowing  is  no  question  of 
life  or  death.  No  watchful  dame  will  grumble  if  the  tea  be 
cold." 

"But  they  expect  you  !" 

"At  seven,  or  thereabout.     Do  not  fatigue  yourself." 

"  Fatigue  !"  with  an  intonation  of  contempt. 

"  Do  not  turn  pleasure  into  pain,  then.  It  is  the  evil  of  our 
life.  A  rare  old  philosopher  once  said,  that  curses  were  only 
distorted  blessings." 

Victor  laughed  with  a  pleasant  sound  in  his  voice,  and  his 
face  relaxed  a  trifle. 

"You  are  right,"  he  returned.  "We  have  the  whole  after 
noon  before  us,  and  it  is  not  so  far.  But  I  was  thinking — " 

"A  dangerous  employment,  comrade.  Can  it  help  or 
hinder  ?  And  the  grand  secret  of  life  lies  in  extracting  the 
sweet  and  leaving  the  bitter. " 

"  But  some  one  has  to  take  that." 


66  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"  If  any  poor  benighted  soul  longs  for  it.  and  can  be  happy 
on  a  supper  of  thistles  only,  I,  for  one,  will  not  stand  in  the 
way.  But  you  should  have  a  fancy  for  ripe,  rare  flavors,  the 
bloom  of  the  peach,  and  the  purple  frost  of  the  grape;  or  youi 
nature  has  gone  astray  with  some  hard  wrench." 

"  My  nature  !"  catching  up  the  words  eagerly.  "If  you  can 
read  beneath  the  surface — " 

"  Sometimes,"  nodding  his  head  and  gazing  dreamily  at  the 
opposite  shore.  "I  have  seen  many  men — much  of  life — in 
others." 

Self-knowledge  is  perhaps  the  most  fascinating  of  all  lore  to 
the  young.  To  dive  down  into  unknown  depths  and  stir  up 
pearls  with  a  great  pang,  to  probe  the  far  recesses  of  being  and 
the  mysteries  by  which  it  is  surrounded,  even  if  the  questions 
are  unanswerable,  is  like  manna  to  famishing  souls. 

"Read  mine,"  he  said.  It  was  rather  command  than  en-' 
treaty. 

'  Latour  sent  a  peal  of  soft,  elfin  notes  over  the  water.  Victor 
looked  perplexed,  angered.  His  face  showed  too  plainly  the 
space  his  moods  traversed,  the  highest  heaven  and  the  nether 
most  hell  possible  to  him,  that  indeed  lay  brooding  in  the 
great,  unquiet  soul,  goading  him  so  often  into  rebellion 
against  the  fate  that  girded  him  about  like  fire. 

"A  restless  soul,  if  you  will;  a  soul  of  giant  needs,  and 
wants,  and  daring.  You  are  too  late  for  your  era.  You  should 
have  been  born  with  the  old  Crusaders." 

He  dimly  remembered  Godfrey  of  Boulogne,  and  Bertrand 
du  Guesclin,  the  forbidden  romance  of  his  boyhood. 

"But  I  was  not,"  he  replied  bitterly. 

"And  the  hot  blood  chafes  in  your  veins.  The  days  ot 
foolish  chivalry  are  over.  To-day  half  matured  bodies  and 
brains  go  about  seeking  a  great  work  ;  meddling  with  undi 
gested  reforms,  and  keeping  the  world  in  a  state  of  chaos. 
And  what  is  it  when  all  told  ?  A  fortune  that  a  man  will  not 
spend,  a  little  fame  that  the  next  puff  of  wind  blows  away,  or 


With  Fate  against  Him.  67 

a  few  souls  taken  out  of  their  groove,  clipped,  bound,  fash 
ioned  into  an  unnatural  form — saved,  I  believe  your  church 
men  call  it.  My  God  !  is  heaven  to  be  filled  with  such  poor, 
maimed,  and  shackled  bodies  ?" 

"I  am  not  even  that  generous,"  gloomily.  "It  is  for  my 
self." 

"Well,  what  can  a  man  have  but  food  and  raiment?  So 
little  suffices  him,  if  he  would  but  believe  it." 

"  If  it  is  what  he  wants." 

"And  you  want — too  much.  Pah  !  Is  the  whole  thing 
worth  the  trouble  ?  You  make  a  fortune,  and  the  men  who 
would  have  kicked  you  yesterday,  smile  on  you  to-day.  You 
woo  a  mistress,  and  while  your  kisses  are  dewy  wet  on  her 
lips,  another  revels  in  the  fragrance.  Has  the  wine  a  bitter 
flavor  ?" 

"It  is  not  fortune,  it  is  not  love,  but  only  a  place  in  the 
world,  where  I  should  fit  without  all  this  friction." 

"A  man  fits  out  here — in  the  free  air.  The  trees  tell  him 
no  lies,  his  couch  of  moss  is  thornless.  Does  not  a  day  like 
this  make  amends  for  all  ?  A  little  merriment  and  good  cheer, 
a  long  holiday  under  clear  skies,  the  twitter  of  birds,  the  cool 
voice  of  the'  stream.  And  to-morrow  a  new  sunrise,  a  new 
day,  the  evil  sufficient  for  the  hours.  Why  drag  them  into 
this  ?" 

Victor  listened  in  dim  amaze.  If  all  the  world  took  up  this 
vagrant,  gipsy  life — 

"The  creed  is  too  broad  for  you  !"  with  a  rippling,  flute 
like  laugh.  "You  have  gained  yours  in  the  city  yonder, 
where  a  man's  brawn  and  brain  is  weighed  against  so  much 
gold.  Society  says,  '  Marry,  become  a  good  and  useful  citizen 
of  the  state  :'  greed  says,  '  If  this  man  see  starvation  written  in 
his  wife's  faded  eyes,  and  every  line  of  his  children's  meagre 
frames,  he  will  go  down  into  the  festering  mass  and  sweat 
drops  of  gold  for  us.  Give  him  wife  and  children.  And  so 
the  pool  is  always  full.  Are  you  going  down  into  it?" 


68  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"I  am  nol  going  down  into  it,  so  help  me  God  !"  shutting 
his  lips  with  a  pressure  that  turned  their  scarlet  into  blue,  their 
laughter  into  pain. 

"A  man  is  his  own  God  in  these  matters;"  shrugging  his 
shoulders  with  a  dainty  grace. 

"Then  you  do  not  believe — " 

"  In  a  God  ?  Yes.  In  a  clean,  pure  God,  in  a  God  that 
speaks  to  the  souls  of  men  through  His  clear,  sweet  voices. 
Does  not  the  bird  call  to  matin  song  when  he  praises  the  Lord 
for  his  glad,  joyous  life?  Does  not  the  forest  utter  speech  of 
Him,  the  waters  murmur  His  name  as  they  glide  onward  to 
the  sea  ?  Do  you  need  that  vile,  struggling  crowd  down  yon 
der,  where  the  mothers  beat  their  squalid  children,  and  the 
husbands  murder  their  wives  in  drunken  fury,  to  convince  you 
of  His  existence  ?  Ah,  well,  I  think  it  would  make  me  dis 
believe." 

The  eyes  were  no  longer  dreamy  but  sparkling  with  scorn, 
disgust ;  and  the  flexible  lip  curled  as  if  it  shrank  from  some 
taint  in  the  air. 

The  contrast  came  to  Victor  in  an  absolutely  grotesque 
fashion.  His  father  on  the  one  side  going  down  to  the  depths 
for  these  lost,  polluted  souls ;  and  this  man  leaving  them  to  die 
in  their  own  corruption,  passing  them  by  and  holding  his 
slender  fingers  in  the  fragrant  air  that  even  the  imaginary  taint 
might  be  blown  away.  Was  this  the  medicine  he  needed  for 
his  soul  ? 

"Pah !  Let  it  all  go.  Look  at  yonder  slant  of  sunshine. 
And  yet,  poor  human  eyes  that  see  no  beauty  in  that,  rave 
about  a  painted  picture.  The  world  is  awry,  my  fine  fellow  !" 

Victor  glanced  straight  onward.  The  river  broadened  here, 
and  through  an  irregular  defile  the  westward  sun  poured  in, 
soft  with  the  purpling  haze  of  mountain-tops.  Long  rays  of 
floating,  capricious  vapor,  tinted  with  gold  and  crimson,  en 
tangling  the  confused  crests  and  ridges  of  the  dark  hills,  or 
couching  in  amethystine  masses  like  a  fairy  troupe  at  the 


With  Fate  against  Him.  69 

mouth  of  shadowy  caves.  And  beyond,  the  clouds  in  the 
northern  sky  gathering  themselves  into  white  towers  and  fort 
resses,  behind  whose  battlements  the  forces  of  the  falling 
night  watched  the  rosy  flocks  disperse,  for  the  glory  of  day 
was  coming  slowly  to  an  end. 

Latour  tuned  his  violin  and  they  glided  on  in  silence.     Not* 
a  footstep  to  startle  them  or  the  familiar  birds,  not  a  human 
face  to  peer  at  them  curiously.     It  seemed  to  Victor  as  if  they 
were  in  some  far  solitude. 

But  presently  one  side  of  the  river  grew  more  open.  Vast 
tracts  of  yellow  stubble,  clover-grown  in  some  places,  the 
ripening  corn  nodding  its  yellow-tasselled  head,  signs  of  life  in 
the  quaint  idle  mill,  the  ducks  paddling  at  the  edge  of  the 
stream  busy  with  droning  gossip,  the  orchards  heavy  with  fruit, 
and  the  infrequent  houses. 

"  Let  me  relieve  you  !" 

But  Victor  would  not,  though  his  arms  ached  and  his  hands 
were  blistered. 

And  then  the  twilight  dropped  over  them,  the  sun  being 
hidden  by  the  chain  of  mountains.  Both  were  silent,  and 
both  were  studying  each  other ;  but  with  one  it  was  the  inex 
perience  of  youth,  the  other  with  the  careless  half-satire,  half- 
sympathy  of  five  and  thirty  years,  spent  in  rambling  from  clime 
to  clime,  and  laughing  occasionally  at  human  nature  under  its 
thin  disguises. 

"At  Bohemia,"  he  said,  starting  a  little.  "To-morrow 
the  toil  is  mine,  remember." 

And  Victor  Hurst  saw  the  quaint  settlement  before  him. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  barley  sheaves  were  stacked,  and  the  long-bearded 
heads  glistened  goldenly  in  the  light  of  the  young  moon. 
The  field  had  been  gleaned  and  the  summer  harvesting  was 
done.  Great  low-browed  barns  filled  with  fragrant  hay,  oats, 
rye,  wheat,  safely  housed ;  cattle  lowing  in  their  wide  yards, 
and  busy  figures  running  to  and  fro,  with  an  unmusical  con 
fusion  of  sound. 

A  quaint  scene,  indeed.  You  find  northern  and  western 
Pennsylvania  dotted  with  these  odd  settlements,  where  old- 
world  customs  are  intact — where  dress,  language,  and  all  the 
minutice  are  still  unchanged.  These  women,  in  their,  coarse, 
heavy  shoes,  their  scant  skirts  and  gay  festival  short-gowns, 
gave  no  heed  to  the  fashions  of  the  world  without.  Sun- 
browned  were  they,  square  of  shoulder  and  heavy  of  limb, 
large-handed  and  with  short,  squat  fingers,  looking  as  if  they 
might  have  been  amputated  at  the  first  joint. 

Not  beautiful,  certainly.  Ground  down  to  the  last  morsel 
of  mouldy  black  bread  for  generations,  with  but  an  occasional 
whiff  of  garlic  or  a  handful  of  lentils,  and  no  break  in  the 
toil,  would  you  expect  fine  souls  and  large  brains,  clear  skins 
and  soft,  expressive  eyes  ?  As  the  world  rolls  on,  their  birth 
right,  out  of  which  they  have  been  cheated,  may  come  back 
to  them ;  for, 

"  The  world  goes  up  and  the  world  goes  down." 

Yet,  in  their  way,  they  are  happy.  No  perplexing  social 
problems,  no  effort  at  grandeur,  no  fretting  at  the  narrow 
groove  in  which  they  run  smoothly  from  midsummer  to  mid 
summer,  with  marriages,  births,  christenings,  and  harvests,  and 
the  infrequent  funeral. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  7 1 

The  cottages  were  low  and  plain,  but  the  soft  moonlight 
gave  them  a  certain  picturesqueness.  On  the  smooth  green 
sward  stood  the  long  table,  draped  with  the  holiday-cloth, 
rarely  seen,  save  at  a  festival. 

No  black  bread  now,  and  yet  as  little  of  what  the  world  calls 
luxury.  No  piles  of  luscious  viands,  jellies,  ices,  creams ;  but 
wholesome  fruits,  golden-hearted  cake,  snowy  bread  in  bounti 
ful  slices,  great  hams  ready  to  carve,  cheese  yellow  and  soft, 
and  some  old-country  concoctions,  that,  after  all,  were  not  dis 
tasteful,  even  to  cultivated  palates.  And  the  healthy,  heart- 
some  faces,  the  clear,  strong  voices,  had  in  'them  a  touch  of  the 
high  hills  and  broad  meadows,  the  ring  of  satisfied  toil ;  not 
the  thin,  sharp  tone  of  a  starved  body  and  overfed  brain. 

Paul  was  as  one  of  them.  He  knew  their  language  even  to 
the  broad  patois,  and  understood  their  ways,  their  jests,  and 
laughter.  He  played  the  old  songs  of  Fatherland  for  them, 
and  joined  in  the  ringing  chorus.  And  yet  how  different ! 
Victor  smiled  inwardly. 

"Is  it  dull,  comrade?" 

"Dull  ?  No.  It's  a  strange  picture  to  me,  and  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  wandered  beyond  the  seas.  But  I  like  it." 

"They  are  going  to  dance;"  with  a  light  smile.  "Come 
and  join  them." 

"  I  ?"  Victor  drew  back  with  the  old  boyish  blush. 

"Yes.  These  people  do  not  study  the  grace  or  poetry  of 
motion.  The  women  dance  as  they  cut  their  grain,  by  the 
hardest  1" 

"  Let  me  watch  them  here." 

"There  are  some  passable  girls.  Hark!  what  is  that? 
Audience  for  my  fair  friends  1" 

A  great  lumbering  wagon  stopped,  and  amid  much  talk  and 
laughter,  a  gay  crowd  was  handed  out 

"The  fame  of  the  festival  has  spread  through  the  land.  I 
believe  there  is  a  hotel  or  something  up  the  mountain,  and 
their  own  pleasures  will  not  suffice." 


72  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Twelve  or  fifteen  trooped  out  of  the  crowded  wagon.  Two 
among  them  finished  their  merriment  first,  and  stood  silent,  as 
if  feeling  hardly  at  home  ;  a  girl  and  a  youth,  brother  and  sister 
Victor  thought  them  at  first. 

And  yet  their  faces  were  most  unlike.  She,  a  mere  slip  of 
fifteen  or  thereabouts,  petite,  slender,  with  soft  curling  hair  that 
fell  like  a  cloud  to  her  waist,  a  fine,  clear  complexion,  and 
lovely  blue  eyes.  A  rosy,  dainty  picture,  different  from  any 
thing  he  had  ever  seen. 

The  other  was  slight  as  well,  with  the  light  hair  arid  blonde 
characteristics  ;  but  instead  of  the  clear  straightforward  outlook 
of  the  girl,  his  was  weak,  vascillating,  selfish,  and  crafty.  Not 
a  face  to  trust,  Victor  decided. 

The  dancing  began.  At  first,  the  spectators  laughed  a  little, 
then  a  few  of  the  more  venturesome  joined — two  or  three 
madcap  girls  ripe  for  a  frolic,  and  as  many  young  men.  They 
flavored  it  with  the  grace  and  elegance  of  cultivation.  Faster 
thrilled  out  the  glowing  sweetness  and  daring  of  the  violin, 
until  all  the  summer-night  air  seemed  to  throb  with  sentiency. 
If  some  kept  time  with  brain  and  soul,  and  others  with  mere 
slow,  physical  enjoyment,  what  matter  ? 

The  hosts  were  courteous  with  overflowing  German  hospital 
ity,  and  the  guests  fraternized  speedily.  Here  a  couple  strayed 
off  to  the  veiling  shadow  of  a  great  tree,  shy  even  of  the  tender 
moonlight  so  akin  to  the  romance  stirring  in  their  hearts,  albeit 
a  little  dully  according  to  their  slow  natures. 

Even  Victor's  bashful  mood  was  thawed  by  the  general  gay 
good-humor.  Paul  dragged  him  here  and  there ;  his  hand  was 
grasped  in  a  strong,  heartsome  welcome,  and  he  translated  the 
strange  tongue  by  the  smiles  and  beaming  eyes. 

Presently  he  found  himself  in  the  vicinity  of  the  girl  he  had 
been  unconsciously  watching,  or  rather  she  came  and  threw 
herself  with  the  sweet  abandon  of  fearless  youth  on  the  rude 
bench  beside  him,  and  laughed  out.  her  apology  in  German  ; 
but,  oh,  the  music  !  Could  it  be  akin  to  these  coarse  tongues? 


With  Fate  against  Him.  73 

"  I  am — not  a  German,"  stammering  and  blushing. 

"Oh!"  looking  sharply  at  the  hair  of  bronze,  and  ruddy 
skin.  "Then  you  don't  belong  to  the  settlement?"  in  an 
impulsive  tone. 

"  No.     I  came  down  the  river  with — with  Latour." 

"  Isn't  he  the  musician  ?  They  call  him  Paul." 

"Yes.     Do  you  like  it?" 

"It  is  a  grand  old  name,"  in  a  meditative  way.  "Yes, 
I  like  it.  I  like  all  names  that  seem  to  mean  some 
thing." 

He  smiled  at  her  earnestness. 

"And  on  the  same  principle,  I  always  find  fault  with  mine. 
Sylvia  Redmond.  It  carries  no  weight.  It  has  no  character!" 

She  was  a  charming  picture  of  pretty,  pettish  dissatisfaction. 

"Yes,"  he  made  answer.  "Names  ought  to  be  the  key 
note.  But  one  can  tell  so  little  about  a  child." 

She  was  a  trifle  vexed  that  he  did  not  compliment  hers. 
There  were  a  good  many  small  coquetries  in  her  heart  of  fifteen, 
but  they  were  very  sweet  withal. 

"  How  far  down  the  river  did  you  come  ?" 

"A  dozen  miles.     But  I  left  Weareham  this  morning." 

"Oh,  that's  a  great  town  !"  looking  oddly  at  him.  "And 
you  are  a  friend  of  Paul  Latour's.  Tell  me  something  about 
him.  It  is  a  curious  dark  face ;  Italian,  I  think,  though  the 
name  is  French." 

"  I  have  been  acquainted  with  him  since  noon,  only." 

She  stared  with  a  pretty,  piquant  grace,  and  laughed  in  short, 
musical  notes. 

"It  is  an  adventure,"  she  said,  with  gleeful  heedlessness. 
"  Mr.  Gilliat  tells  me  about  them  sometimes — incidents  of  his 
tours  abroad." 

"Your  brother?"  Victor  returned  nervously.  "The  fair 
youth  by  whom  you  stood  so  long  when  you  first  left  the 
wagon  ?" 

"You  saw  us  then?"  pleased  with  the  confessed  notice. 


74  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"But  he  is  not  my  brother — I  have  none.  It  is  Eustace 
Gilliat." 

Her  announcement  did  not  in  the  least  seem  to  astonish  this 
stranger.  Yet  she  had  seen  people  wonderfully  gratified  by  the 
knowledge. 

"I  am  glad  he  is  not  your  brother  ;"  in  a  strange,  relieved 
tone. 

"Why?  Perhaps  you  don't  know — "  in  her  winning,  childish 
eagerness.  "It  is  such  a  grand  old  family.  I  like  to  look  over 
the  old  genealogy.  There  have  been  earls  and  dukes,  and  a 
Sir  Hugh  Gilliat,  who  was  a  great  royalist  in  the  time  of  Charles 
the  First,  -and  a  brave  soldier.  And  Madame  Gilliat  came  from 
royalty.  They  were  cousins — Eustace's  parents.  And  the  house 
is  like  a  palace  !  Do  you  know,  I. sometimes  wish  that  I  could 
be  Eustace  Gilliat !" 

"Better  a  thousand  times  be  yourself,"  a  curious  heat  and 
passion  flushing  his  face  and  adding  a  touch  of  hoarse  strength 
to  his  voice. 

"Mamma  came  of  the  Randolphs  in  Virginia.  'I'm  proud 
of  that,  though  maybe  it  is  not  quite  so  grand  as  the  Gilliat 
descent, "  meditatively.  "I  like  this  idea  of  pure  old  blood, 
that  has  never  been  brought  in  contact  with  vulgarity  or  igno 
rance,  but  kept  clean  and  fine.  I  think  it  always  speaks  in  a 
person. " 

A  born  aristocrat,  dainty,  refined,  and  no  doubt  exclusive, 
when  the  lines  came  to  be  sharply  drawn.  Well,  why  should 
he  care  if  her  clean,  pure  lines  barred  him  without  ?  Why 
should  every  nerve  rise  up  in  bristling  resistance  to  her  foolish 
child's  gossip  ? 

"And  so,"  he  began  almost  harshly,  "youVare  desirous  of 
taking  that  shallow,  flavorless  life  in  exchange  for  your  bright 
ness  1" 

"Shallow  !    What  do  you  mean?"  in  a  sudden  heat. 

"What  I  said  ;"  doggedly.  "There's  not  a  strong  line  in 
his  face,  there's  not  a  bit  of  energy  in  that  girlish  figure,  and 


With  Fate  against  Him.  75 

if  the  old  blood  ever  was  rich  and  strong,  it  became  diluted 
before  it  reached  his  veins." 

She  gazed  at  her  companion  with  an  odd  mixture  of  terror, 
surprise,  and  offended  dignity,  blended  with  the  interest  that, 
after  all,  overrules  youth  and  renders  it  daring,  incautious. 

"He  is  very  young,  just  past  nineteen  ;  and  then  he  has 
lived  abroad  so  much.  Mr.  Gilliat,  you  know,  had  a  govern 
ment  appointment  four  years,  and  he  has  seen — everything — 
is  accomplished,  and  all  that.  Mamma  likes  him  so  much  !" 

' '  And  you  ?" 

Some  deep  interest  urged  him  on,  not  mere  morbid  curios 
ity.  He  had  never  talked  so  freely  to  any  one  in  his  life — 
quite  as  if  he  had  a  right.  And  she  did  not  resent  it,  as  a 
girl  with  more  pride  or  experience  would  have  done.  The 
Randolph  blood  could  not  have  made  much  headway  in  her 
veins. 

"He  amuses  and  entertains  me  ;"  rather  pettishly.  "And 
he  knows  all  about  Paris  and  Baden-Baden,  and  it's  like  a 
novel  to  hear  him  talk.  But  when  he  comes  to  a  man's 
life—" 

"Yes,  when  he  comes  to  a  man's  life,"  with  a  touch  of  ex 
citement  in  his  voice,  and  his  eyes  growing  darker,  dimmer. 

"It  will  be  different,  I  suppose.  If  you  could  see  Mr.  Gil 
liat  !  He  always  seems  like  a  story-book  hero  to  me,  so  grand, 
so  courteous,  so  learned ;  and  as  Eustace  grows  older  he  will 
be  more  like  his  father." 

"Does  that  follow  ?"  grimly,  twisting  the  button  on  his  gray 
blouse. 

"I  think — it  ought.  But  that  wasn't  quite  what  I  meant 
when  I  wished  to  be  in  his  place.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have 
power,  and  wealth,  and  knowledge ;  to  be  able  to  wrest  the 
secrets  out  of  the  earth  and  the  air,  to  know  why  ^governments 
fail  or  succeed,  and  why  nations  perish.  I  listen  to  them  often 
when  they  are  talking  in  the  great  drawing-room  at  Rothermel, 
and  it  seems  of.  so  much  more  import:  ace  to  be  a  man,  and 


76  With  Fate  against  Him. 

not  have  your  head  full  of  silly  trifles — dresses,  and  laces,  and 
parties.  But  how  can  we  help  it  ?" 

She  .looked  so  entirely  sweet  and  beguiling,  that  Victor 
Huist,  foolish  fellow,  thought  the  world  would  sustain  an 
irreparable  loss  if  in  this  case  sex  were  reversed. 

"  Every  man  has  a  right  to  know  this  much  !"  with  a  fierce, 
rapid  underbreath  that  half  strangled  him  in  his  abrupt  tran 
sition  of  thought.  "  And  when  he  is  crowded  out  of  his  place 
by  some  cruel,  unjust  fate,  the  world  cannot  blame  him  if  he 
makes  a  hard  fight  and  deals  blows  right  and  left !" 

She  looked  at  him  in  dim  amaze.  This  was  not  quite  the 
creed  of  the  gentlemen  in  the  Gilliat  drawing-room.  Their 
heroes  and  high  souls  were  born  to  the  position,  and  did  not 
have  to  fight  their  way  up.  Hard  blows  were  connected,  in  her 
mind,  with  the  lower  classes,  poverty,  degradation,  and  their 
kindred. 

He  saw  the  surprise  in  her  soft  eyes,  and  it  fretted  him,  for 
he  had  fancied  a  moment  ago  that  there  was  a  delicate  bridge 
between  them  over  which  one  might  pass  to  the  better  knowl 
edge  of  the  other.  And  not  understanding  social  problems 
clearly,  he  was  the  more  ready  to  parade  his  weapons  for  the 
fray. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  a  man  has  a  right  to  bring  himself 
up  to  any  height  that  he  can  reach,  no  matter  if  he  came  out  of 
the  sloughs  of  the  street !  If  the  fine,  earnest  soul  is  in  him." 

"But  I  think  it  never  is  in  such  people,"  venturing  to  fill 
his  pause.  "The  coarse,  degraded  lives,  the  common  and 
menial  occupations,  the  low  pleasures,  and  the  lack  of  educa 
tion  unfits  them  for  any  sphere  save  their  own.  They  would 
not  be  happy  out  of  it" 

She  had  heard  all  this  so  often  that  it  was  like  a  lesson 
learned  by  rote.  She  looked  so  graceful  and  dainty  here  in 
the  soft  moonlight,  the  fine,  pure  complexion,  the  silken  hair, 
the  almost  haughty  mouth  and  chin,  the  delicate  child's  hand, 
slender  and  white,  and  all  the  elegant  touches  of  dress,  from 


With  Fate  against  Him.  77 

her  bronze  boot,  restlessly  crunching  the  grass,  to  the  bit  of 
lace  against  her  shapely,  swelling  throat.  It  affected  him 
curiously.  His  soul  was  full  of  awkward,  rugged  honesty, 
and  he  would  not  win  one  word  from  her  under  a  false 
pretence. 

"I  think  they  could  be  happy  elsewhere  if  they  had  a 
chance.  Many  of  them  are  able  to  understand  the  advantages 
of  education  :  they  work  for  it,  fight  for  it,  starve  for  it. 
Would  your  rich  men's  sons  do  this  ?  And  if  any  soul  can  lift 
itself  up  to  the  purer,  higher  level,  what  right  have  you  and 
your  class  to  crowd  him  out?" 

"I  shouldn't  crowd  anybody  out,"  falteringly. 

"But  you  would  tread  upon  him,  crush  him,  as  if  he  were 
a  worm  who  had  dared  to  rear  his  head." 

"Not  such  as  you,"  she  made  answer,  involuntarily,  noting 
the  strong  resolute  eyes,  and  the  fine  lips  he  was  compressing 
in  the  heat  of  passion.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  then  that  gen 
tlemen  of  the  Gilliat  school  never  carried  their  tempers  so 
plainly  in  their  faces. 

"  Why,  I  belong  to  the  class  you  think  incapable  of  redemp 
tion  !"  with  a  short,  bitter  laugh.  "But  maybe  I  can  feeVthe 
most  plainly  what  is  stirring  in  my  own  soul.  Yours  set 
bounds  for  it,  but  now  and  then  one  daring  spirit  flashes  out  of 
the  orbit  made  by  men's  hands.  Victor  Hurst  means  to  do  this." 

She  possessed  a  sweet,  generous  nature,  and  it  was  so  used 
to  daily  crossings,  and  thwartings,  and  ridicule,  that  she  was 
not  angry  now,  as  any  other  girl  might  have  been.  Indeed, 
her  habit  of  catching  at  any  new  idea,  and  following  stray 
whims,  stood  her  in  good  stead. 

"Victor,"  she  said,  softly,  "somewhere  along  your  line 
there  must  have  been  a  king.  It  is  a  king's  name." 

"  There  have  been  no  kings,"  brusquely.  "  My  father  is  a 
plain,  commonplace  man  ;  my  mother — well,  she  could  have 
been  a  lady  with  the  best  of  you.  The  small  accident  of  birth 
or  wealth  shut  her  out.  I  mean  to  overleap  it." 


78  With  Fate  against  Him. 

His  voice  rang  out  with  a  sharp,  electric  force,  and  obeying 
some  sudden  impulse,  he  rose  and  stood  before  her. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  far  future,  so  bright  with  youthful 
ambition,  so  possible  as  he  felt  the  warm,  vigorous  blood 
rushing  through  his  veins  in  great,  tumultuous  bounds.  He 
would  win  something.  He  would  stand  before  her  and  her 
class  one  day,  and  say,  proudly,  "  I  am  Victor  Hurst.  What 
is  the  praise  of  your  fragrant  lips  to  me,  when  I  remember 
that  last  year  they  laughed  me  to  scorn  !" 

She  glanced  at  him  as  he  towered  before  her,  in  the  moon 
light.  Tall,  arrowy-straight,  haughty  enough  in  this  mood  to 
match  the  finest  of  her  every-day  princes,  the  fiery  eyes  sweep 
ing  the  space  between,  and  challenging  her  soul,  as  if  it  would 
cleave  an  entrance  therein  ;  the  flexible  nostrils  panting  with 
inward  heat,  like  a  thorough-bred  waiting  impatiently  for  the 
signal.  A  sense  of  awe  and  mystery  crept  over  her  ;  a  con 
sciousness  of  a  peculiar  kind  of  power  which  had  never  before 
bearded  her  in  this  fashion. 

The  music  had  ceased  moments  ago.  The  crowd  was  surg 
ing  to  the  long  table,  improved  by  the  magical  touch  of  excite- 
men^  pleasure.  Heavy  eyes  had  brightened,  dull  lips  were 
scarlet  and  smiling,  and  the  very  air  appeared  full  of  chatter 
and  vivacity.  The  clatter  of  strange  tongues,  the  quaint 
dresses,  the  animation,  gave  the  scene  a  peculiarly  foreign  ap 
pearance.  To  Victor  it  was  like  a  glimpse  of  a  far  country. 

Miss  Redmond's  party  were  coming  in  search  of  her.  Victor 
drew  back  in  the  shadow  of  a  great  oak,  his  courage  vanished 
into  diffidence.  He  saw  so  clearly,  now,  the  gulf  that  divided 
them.  These  women,  in  gay  attire,  and  the  haughty  air  of 
superiority,  their  faces  full  of  a  kind  of  pleasant  contempt,  as 
if,  after  all,  they  would  not  grudge  these  poor  fools  their  enjoy 
ment,  as  it  would  even  afford  them  something  to  laugh  about 
to-morrow. 

And  yet  they  came  to  the  simple  feast  Just  for  the  sake  of 
criticising  the  homely  fare,  and  distorting  their  faces  a  little 


With  Fate  against  Him.  79 

with  the  Rhine  wine.     No  breach  of  hospitality  therein,  since 
there  could  be  no  social  equality. 

Paul  Latour  laughed  and  jested  with  rare  good-humor, 
remembering  festivals  among  other  mountains.  The  young 
men  crowded  to  his  vicinity — awkward  clowns,  perhaps,  but  he 
did  not  smile  over  their  lack  of  polish.  So  they  ate,  drank, 
and  feasted  with  soul  as  well  as  body,  breaking  presently  into 
wild  German  choruses  that  made  the  woods  ring  out  a  thou 
sand  echoes. 

After  this,  the  staid  matrons  began  to  gather  their  dishes 
and  pile  up  the  fragments.  The  younger  ones  entreated  Paul 
for  some  more  music,  and  formed  themselves  into  a  ring  on 
the  greensward.  Victor  strolled  away  in  a  curious  mood  of 
unrest,  for  Sylvia's  duenna  seemed  suddenly  to  have  awakened 
to  her  sense  of  duty,  keeping  the  girl  close  to  her. 

Down  by  the  river's  edge,  where  the  noiseless  breath  of  night 
wafted  fleets  of  damp,  fragrant  odors,  like  a  shadowy  army. 
Thinking  of  these  dull,  uneventful  lives  with  their  slow,  brood 
ing  content :  of  those  out  yonder,  rendered  fine  and  keen  by 
the  flow,  of  gold,  wishes  gratified,  desires  fulfilled,  art,  and 
science,  and  culture  at  their  feet,  drifted  up  by  the  plenteous 
sea.  And  he,  neither  dully  content,  nor  having  the  means  to 
compass  any  vague  dream. 

What  was  that?  A  half-smothered  cry,  not  one  of  pleasure 
altogether,  it  seemed,  then  a  voice  of  enireaty,  a  cruel,  mock 
ing  laugh,  a  triumphant  jest  of  some  kind,  as  he  could  tell  by 
the  tone.  The  chivalrous  blood  stirred  within  him,  and  yet  he 
paused  until  the  cry  was  repeated,  but  this  time  more  faintly. 

Then  he  sprang  forward.  One  of  the  young  girls  of  the 
"settlement,"  he  could  tell  by  her  dress;  and  the  other — some 
instinctive  knowledge  warned  him  that  it  was  Eustace  GilliaU 
No  sweet  stolen  kisses  were  these,  but  ravished  from  lips  that 
cried  out  in  stifled,  impotent  helplessness. 

"Villain!  Thief!"  and  the  next  instant  he  had  the  slight 
form  cowering  in  his  giant's  grasp. 


8o  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"So  that  is  your  translation  of  hospitality  !  Go,  child,  go  ;" 
to  the  girl,  who,  sobbing  and  gesticulating,  kissed  his  dis 
engaged  hand  with  frantic  fervor,  and  vanished  like  a  fawn. 

"  You  deserve  to  be  thrown  into  the  river  yonder,  base 
coward  that  you  are  !  A  defenceless  child,  too  !  I  heard  her 
cry  of  affright." 

"Sneak  and  spy  that  you  are  !"  was  the  insolent  rejoinder. 
"As  if  the  little  fool's  resistance  meant  anything  !"  and  he 
struggled  in  the  grasp  that  was  not  relaxed  a  trifle.  "Do  you 
kn<ow  that  I  am  Eustace  Gilliat?  Unhand  me,  you  low  vag 
abond  !" 

It  would  be  an  easy  thing  to  fling  him  over  into  the  current 
like  so  much  carrion.  A  mean,  arrogant,  blustering  coward, 
rose-scented  without,  but  vile  within  !  The  son  of  a  rich  man, 
heir  to  a  fortune,  revelling  in  luxury  and  perhaps  grossness,  a 
pale,  effeminate,  beardless  youth,  with  hardly  a  woman's 
strength  in  his  puny  arms.  He  had  seen  Paris  with  its  wonders  ! 

It  all  passed  through  Victor's  brain  like  a  flash.  One  of 
those  curious  presentiments  as  well.  He  felt  that  he  had  made 
an  enemy,  and  that  sometime  the  bitter  blood  between  them 
would  have  to  be  fought  out  to  the  last  drop. 

"  Let  me  go,  I  say,  or  by  heaven  you  shall  rue  it !  Is  there 
no  help  at  hand  that  a  man  must  be  murdered  in  cold  blood 
by  a  ruffian  for  having  kissed  a  pretty  girl,  who  after  all  was 
willing  enough,  as  such  creatures  usually  are !  It  was  Bur 
gundy  to  her  after  her  sour  Rhine." 

"I  shall  not  murder  you,"  with  a  scornful  laugh,  "though 
I  could  do  it  easily.  Neither  do  I  spare  you  because  you  are 
a  rich  man's  son.  You  have  outraged  the  commonest  law  of 
hospitality,  and  lied,  basely.  This  is  some  of  your  pure  old 
blood  !" 

The  sneer  stung  Gilliat,  and  the  mortification  of  still  being 
a  prisoner  made  him  tremble  with  rage.  He  gave  a  sudden 
wrench  and  aimed  a  backward  blow  at  his  adversary,  but  it 
went  wide  of  its  aim. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  81 

"Take  that,  in  memory  of  your  insult  to  a  defenceless 
girl,  and  go  ;"  loosening  his  hold  of  Gilliat  with  so  sudden 
a  force  that  the  youth  stumbled.  And  there  in  his  face  was 
the  red  flush  left  by  the  other's  hand. 

Eustace  Gilliat  arose  livid  with  passion,  and  confronted  the 
supple  giant  standing  unmoved  before  him.  To  venture  a 
blow  would  be  the  simplest  folly. 

"  A  Gilliat  never  forgives  an  insult,  never  !  You  will  hear 
of  this  again  ;"  a  look  of  baffled  hatred  gleaming  from  his 
eyes. 

"Very  well.  The  girl  possibly  can  tell  her  own  story.  It 
will  be  two  against  one,  but  if  your  high-born  Gilliat  blood 
thirsts  for  the  notoriety — "  with  another  stinging  laugh. 

Eustace  Gilliat  walked  away  in  ignominious,  impotent 
silence,  the  rage  of  a  narrow,  selfish  nature  that  could  brook 
no  control.  If  look  could  have  murdered,  his  surely  would 
have  done  so. 

Victor  felt  quite  light  of  heart.  He  had  struck  the  blow 
against  the  class  of  aristocrats,  as  well  as  the  particular  in 
dividual.  The  secret  antagonism  had  raised  its  voice  in  pro 
test,  and  now  he  meant  to  fight  his  way  through. 

Ah,  Victor,  youth  has  many  battles  on  this  rough  ground, 
where  neither  can  see  his  adversary  clearly,  and  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  useless  fighting  with  shadows. 

Long  before  midnight  Bohmerwald  had  sunk  into  the  silence 
of  peaceful  slumber.  Paul  and  Victor  shared  a  great  room 
whose  uncarpeted  floor  was  silvery  white,  and  whose  single 
pallets  were  fragrant  with  sweet  herbs. 

4* 


CHAPTER  VII. 

BY  dawn  the  little  village  was  again  astir,  but  there  was  no 
bright  flutter  of  holiday  caps  and  gowns.  The  clear,  shrill  ring  of 
the  cocks  from  wayside  eminences,  the  lowing  of  kine,  and  the 
faint  bleating  of  the  distant  sheep,  mingled  with  the  cheerful 
but  uncadenced  voices  of  men  and  women,  taking  up  their 
homely  life. 

And  they  were  content,  Victor  thought,  gazing  idly  out  over 
the  lovely  landscape  in  its  rosy,  morning  haze.  No  rank,  nervous 
vitality  to  be  rubbed  sharply  against  the  plodding  details,  until 
it  was  all  one  keen,  aching  sore.  Was  it  because  they  knew  no 
better?  Their  simple-hearted  Lutheran  priest  had  religion 
enough  for  them  ;  their  ambition  went  no  farther  than  their 
farm  fences. 

Did  God  make  them  all  of  one  clay,  and  breathe  into  every 
soul  the  breath  of  life  ?  These  in  their  cleanly  quiet,  and  the 
hosts  of  wretches  out  city-ward,  who  turned  night  into  a  vile 
orgie,  beat  their  wives  and  children,  filled  the  festering  prisons 
and  paupers'  graves  ?  And  the  delicate  souls  pampered  in 
luxury  until  weakness  became  their  only  grace  :  the  restless 
souls  like  his,  finding  no  place  where  they  could  work  in  their 
full,  exultant  strength — not  of  brawn,  but  brain. 

Paul  Latour  startled  him  by  a  fling  of  laughter,  though  the 
sun  had  flooded  the  room  for  nearly  an  hour. 

"  You  take  life  too  hard,  comrade  !  I  said  it  yesterday." 

. "  Yes, "  twisting  his  fingers  nervously.  ' '  But  life  t's  a  strange, 
hard  matter  with  me." 

"And  why  should  it  be?  Ask  the  birds  for  their  secret.  A 
crumb,  a  nest,  and  a  song.  A  twittering  among  the  leaves  in 
the  morning,  a  cheery  whistle  at  night.  Here  to-day,  to- 


With  Fate  against  Him.  83 

morrow  in  the  grave,  mayhap  !  What  does  it  matter  ?  Tra, 
la,  la,  la." 

Victor  smiled  oddly.  Yesterday,  the  magnetic  voice  had 
fascinated  him.  The  luminous  eyes,  the  olive  skin,  and 
stragling  gipsy  beard,  and  the  inconsequent  trifles  of  talk 
were  so  many  charms. 

To-day  he  wanted  strength;  the  positive  instead  of  the  nega 
tive.  And  work  of  the  right  kind,  when  it  came  to  that. 

"Come,"  Latour  said  gayly,  "cast  care  to  the  winds.  Let 
us  follow  the  breeze  which  warms  and  ripens  all  within  its 
reach.  Our  empire  shall  be  the  whole  world,  field,  forest,  sea, 
or  desert.  We  will  sun  ourselves  amid  Spanish  vineyards, 
where  the  grapes  lie  purpling  into  sweeter  wine  than  we  drank 
last  night,  and  eat  our  fruit  where  the  laughing  waves  dash 
music  in  our  very  faces.  Or,  if  you  like  Italian  skies  better, 
there  are  groves  of  olives  and  figs.  We  shall  not  starve.  And 
for  amusement  or  greed,  I  will  fiddle  to  villagers  as  I  did  last 
night.  For  see,  I  like  you  !". 

The  odd,  piquant,  earnest  manner  moved  Victor,  and  above 
all,  the  naive  confession. 

"Thank  you.     But  it  would  be  quite  impossible." 

"Yet  you  sigh  for  freedom  ?" 

"And  I  should  tire  of  idleness  after  awhile." 

"  Paf !  You  might  paint  a  picture  !" 

Victor  flushed  and  thrilled  with  secret  joy.  Why  not  the 
desultory  Bohemian  life  of  art  and  music  ?  He  loved  both. 
And  the  vision  tempted  him. 

He  reached  over  for  his  knapsack  with  eager,  trembling 
hands. 

"I  don't  know  about  painting.  It  is  either  a  genius  or  a 
life-long  study.  I  could  never  translate  the  color  of  this 
morning,  or  the  softness  of  last  night.  But  I  have  done 
these. " 

Some  small  pencil-studies,  defined  with  marvellous  accuracy, 
and  two  or  three  half-finished. 


84  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"  If  they  could  be  done  in  black  and  white  !     But  color — " 

"You  can  study  over  there;"  nodding  his  head  eastward. 
"And  there  a  bunch  of  grapes  and  a  crust  suffices.  What  do 
we  care  for  palaces  while  the  stars  shine  and  peasants  keep  the 
ground  warm  with  their  dancing?  Yes,  come." 

The  voice  fell  into  soft,  pleading  accords,  and  the  quaint 
face  had  the  eagerness  of  a  child's. 

They  were  summoned  to  breakfast.  Their  hostess  had 
spread  a  small  table  with  delicacies,  and  welcomed  them  with 
the  cordiality  of  a  mother. 

Brown  and  bent,  the  grizzled  hair  gathered  under  the  high 
starched  cap,  the  skin  dried  and  wrinkled  ;  but  the  smile  frank 
and  joyous,  the  eyes  keen,  yet  kind. 

By  the  open  window  opposite,  sat  a  young  girl  knotting  some 
coarse  white  fringe.  She  glanced  up,  blushed,  and  trembled  ; 
then  with  a  sudden  rush  joined  the  group,  clasping  her 
mother's  horny  hands,  and  talking  rapidly.  Paul  and  the 
mother  turned  their  eyes  toward  Victor,  the  latter  breaking  into 
voluble  exclamations. 

"So,  comrade !"  and  Paul's  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder. 
"You  made  true  your  claim  to  the  guild.  Marie  says,  that 
last  night  you  rescued  her  from  the  freedom  of  an  insolent 
scamp,  and  she  is  all  gratitude.  How  modest  you  were  !" 

"It  was  nothing,"  and  Victor  flushed.  He  had  not  recog 
nized  the  girl  at  first,  but  her  voice  and  gestures  were  familiar 
after  a  moment. 

Paul  interpreted.  Marie,  it  seems,  had  danced  once  with 
the  young  gallant,  and  then  been  drawn  into  walking  with 
him,  when  his  friendliness  had  degenerated  into  coarse, 
ungentlemanly  license.  Marie  magnified  her  deliverer's  office, 
and  was  profuse  in  her  gratitude. 

" They  are  boors,  these  rich  men's  sons,"  exclaimed  Paul, 
angrily.  "They  have  their  balls,  and  dinners,  and  dissipations 
— why  could  they  not  stay  away,  or  behave  honorably  !  Pah  ! 
I  am  only  sorry  that  you  did  not  throw  him  into  the  river !" 


With  Fate  against  Him.  85 

Victor  laughed  gayly.  He  was  good-humored  this  morning, 
and  not  morbid  ;  besides,  Paul  would  hardly  understand  the 
smouldering  class-quarrel  that  he  had  with  the  Gilliat  blood. 

They  ate  their  breakfast  and  rambled  round  the  settlement, 
where  so  many  things  were  new  to  Victor's  eyes.  And  the 
friends,  for  such  they  were,  fell  into  a  half-confidence,  and  a 
promise  that  when  May  came,  the  two  would  journey  together 
as  free  companions. 

Victor  threaded  his  way  over  the  mountains  that  night  alone. 
Three  days  since  Monday  morning,  and  in  them  he  seemed  to 
have  lived  half  a  lifetime.  But  he  was  coming  back  to  civil 
ization,  where  the  air  was  full  of  strangling  smoke  and  vile 
odors,  and  then  he  balanced  liberty  in  the  one  hand  and  honor 
in  the  other,  and  thought  he  had  lost.  If  he  could  have  cried 
through  the  trees  for  Paul ! 

His  mother  sat  by  the  window  watching,  and  knew  the  step 
long  before  it  sounded  on  the  old  garden-path.  She  snuffed 
her  dim  candle,  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  went  out  to 
meet  him. 

"Victor  !"  with  a  great  tremble  in  her  voice,  a  great  throb 
of  joy  at  her  weary  heart. 

He  knew  what  fear  had  been  chilling  along  the  pulses 
like  a  keen,  wintry  blast,  making  the  hands  ice-cold  even 
now. 

"  I  told  you  that  I  would  come  back,"  not  unkindly. 

"But  it  was  so  late." 

"Am  I  a  baby  that  I  must  be  housed  at  dark  ?" 

"Victor!"  with  a  fond  lingering  over  the  name,  a  cling 
ing  of  hands  and  a  tremulous  flutter  of  the  weary  eyelids. 
Ah,  poor  mother !  Sons  who  do  not  go  up  to  Calvary,  still 
say — "Woman,  what  have  I  to  do  with  thee  !" 

He  looked  for  his  father  to  be  in  the  arm-chair,  stern, 
questioning,  ready  to  censure,  but  the  corner  was  vacant,  so 
he  softened  a  little. 

"  I  have  had  a  rare  holiday  indeed  ! — a  journey  to  the  Bo- 


86  With  Fate  against  Him. 

hemian  settlement,  miles  down  the  river.  They  had  a  har 
vest  festival  last  night." 

"I  am  glad  you  were  happy." 

With  her  there  had  been  nothing  but  dead  people  and 
funerals.  The  seven  works  of  Mercy  was  her  rosary,  and  she 
toll  the  beads  over  often. 

"Yes,  I  am  glad  that  you  have  been  happy  ;"  in  a  moth 
erly,  wandering  way,  the  eyes  still  sad  and  wistful. 

He  looked  so  handsome,  his  face  all  aflush,  and  his  tawny 
hair  thrown  back,  the  lithe  rounded  limbs  just  defined  under 
the  gray  blouse,  compact,  nervous,  strong. 

If  he  had  sat  down  and  told  her  of  the  festival,  the  joys 
and  pleasures  of  the  simple  folk,  and  most  of  all,  particu 
larized  his  own,  it  would  have  rendered  her  so  happy.  The 
warm,  vital  interest  between  her  child  and  herself  grew  less 
every  day.  She  saw  it  with  pain. 

"Good-night.      Is  father  home?" 

"He  went  to  bed  an  hour  ago,  very  tired.  I  think  he 
grows  feebler  this  warm  weather  ;"  sighing  wearily. 

"Carrying  the  burden  of  all  those  miserable  lives  upon 
his  soul  !  I  don't  believe  God  requires  it." 

"  He  is  anxious  for  you,  too  ;"  timidly. 

"He  may  lay  down  that  care!  I  shall  never  be  saved  in 
his  way,  never.  There  !  I  have  hurt  you  !  But — good 
night,  again.  You  were  kind  to  sit  up  for  me." 

In  his  own  room  he  pulled  out  the  dry  bread  and 
withered  grapes,  laughing  a  little. 

"It's  not  so  bad  after  all.  And  to  see  the  world — all  those 
rare  old  lands,  the  groves  of  orange  and  palm,  the  long 
glistening  vineyards,  the  palaces  and  galleries,  to  study  a  little 
and  to  know  life,  life  !  Next  May.  I  wonder  if  the  waiting 
will  seem  long?"  and  he  sighed  softly,  for — 

"  A  boy's  will  is  the  winds'  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

Through  his  dreamy  brain  floated  Paul,  Sylvia  Redmond, 


With  Fate  against  Him.  87 

and  Eustace  Gilliat.  The  last  he  hated  with  a  kind  of  bitter 
contempt.  Sylvia  would  marry  him,  of  course,  she  was  so 
permeated  with  admiration  of  lofty  descent.  A  foolish  little 
thing,  and  yet  he  half  envied  the  wealth  that  would  fall  into 
her  hands,  golden,  ripe  fruit. 

John  Hurst  had  been  deeply  shocked  at  his  son's  derelic 
tion,  and  perhaps  a  little  offended  that  his  mother  had  silently 
abetted  it.  To  go  off  pleasuring  when  so  good  an  old  man 
as  Mr.  Norcross  lay  dead,  and  all  the  shop-hands  were  ex 
pected  to  show  their  sympathy  and  respect,  seemed  to  him 
absolutely  heartless.  For  he  believed  devoutly  in  the  lesser 
command  of  ordering  one's  self  lowly  and  reverently  to  one's 
betters.  The  old-fashioned  faith  of  his  boyhood  wouJd  never 
be  eradicated. 

"The  lad  strays  farther  and  farther,"  he  said  sharply.  "  He 
has  no  fear  of  present  displeasure,  nor  the  judgment  to  come. 
We  have  failed  in  our  duty,  and  God  sends  us  this  bitter,  wild 
fruit  by  way  of  punishment." 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  made  answer  in  her  tender,  motherly 
way.  "  We  were  not  all  wise  at  twenty  ;"  and  she  sighed. 

"But  he  has  had  good  counsel  and  many  prayers,  much 
patience.  It  will  be  the  story  of  the  child  Absalom  over 
again  !" 

She  shivered,  crying  out  with  sharp  pain — 

' '  You  judge  too  soon  !  Perhaps  the  mistake  may  have 
been  ours.  He  has  a  peculiar  nature — " 

"The  old  excuse  for  sin  and  wilfulness.  What  will  it 
avail  with  God,  think  you  ?  There  is  but  one  law,  one  way." 

A  hard  faith,  truly.  Was  it  her  carnal  heart  that  rose  in 
bitterness  ?  And  somehow  every  pulse  within  her  mutinied, 
gave  a  quick  throb  of  resistant  anguish.  Had  she  sinned  so 
sorely  then,  that  she  must  be  bitterly  punished  now?  To  whom 
should  she  turn — to  God,  or  to  her  son  ? 

So  she  had  gone  patiently  about  her  household  cares  and 
her  works  of  mercy.  These  poor  women  clung  to  her,  perhaps 


88  With  Fate  against  Him. 

because  she  had  so  few  texts  and  so  many  tears.  She  listened 
to  her  husband's  earnest  warning  over  the  grave  of  the  poor 
laborer,  hurried  out  of  the  world,  at  his  post  of  duty,  by  the 
careless  and  narrow  economy  of  his  fellow-man,  who  builded 
a  frail  scaffolding ;  and  then  she  turned  to  the  Reverend 
Underwood's  glowing  discourse  of  the  dead  saint  lying  below 
the  pulpit  in  all  the  delicate  state  of  rosewood  and  satin.  A 
good  man,  a  just  man,  a  generous  almoner,  a  bulwark  of 
the  state,  society,  virtue,  a  man  whose  death  would  be  felt 
everywhere,  over  whom  the  grateful  heathen  would  weep,  and 
Christians  sorrow,  but  not  without  hope. 

Ah,  had  he  ever  stamped  in  the  snow  to  warm  his  chilled 
and  weary  feet,  and  crawled  under  a  stoop,  or  in  some 
empty  ash-box  to  sleep  ;  had  he  felt  the  wind  blow  through 
tattered  garments,  shaving  the  tender  skin  with  an  edge  as 
keen  as  a  razor ;  had  he  looked  with  hungry,  longing  eyes  at 
the  bread  in  the  shop-windows,  and  feasted  on  the  smell 
steaming  out  from  some  grand  kitchen — shadowy  supper 
indeed  !  No  !  his  had  been  the  purple  and  the  fine  linen — 
and  yet  men  praised  him  for  not  having  been  a  villain. 

Anah  Hurst's  brain  was  confused  with  it  all.  Could  God 
see  how  easy  it  was  to  be  good  there,  how  hard  here ;  and 
how  much  more  faith  it  takes  to  starve  by  inches,  being 
honest,  than  to  be  cast  to  wild  beasts  at  Ephesus  ? 

She  crept  softly  up  to  her  room,  took  off  the  plain  gray 
dress  with  its  linen  collar,  and  hung  it  carefully  on  the  peg. 
And  the  picture  came  oddly  into  her  mind  of  having  seen  Mrs. 
Underwood  among  the  mourners,  in  her  rich  black-silk  and 
point-lace,  and  the  clusters  of  purple  heliotrope  and  pansy  in 
her  elegant  lace  bonnet.  Not  that  only.  Sons  and  daughters 
were  around  her — bright,  rosy  children — maybe  this  very 
evening  she  went  and  kissed  them  as  they  lay  in  their  beds. 
It  seemed  as  if  all  prosperous  women  were  happy.  So  much 
gold  stood  for  so  much  comfort,  and  ease,  and  bliss.  If  she 
had  been  rich  she  could  have  given  her  boy  that  which  he 


With  Fate  against  Him.  89 

most  wanted,  all  the  appliances  of  knowledge.  And  if  he 
had  not  been  fretted  on  every  side,  repressed,  clipped  to  fit  a 
certain  mould — was  it  God's  express  wish  ?  Did  he  mean 
that  poor  people  only  should  save  their  souls  through  much 
tribulation,  much  pain  and  self-sacrifice,  and  that  the  others 
should  go  to  heaven  on  "flowery  beds  of  ease?" 

She  was  so  tired,  now,  that  judgment  and  piety  had  gone 
astray,  and  in  the  dark  were  taking  each  other  for  sharp  foes. 
And  kneeling  there  by  her  bed  she  prayed  in  a  sort  of  breath 
less  hush — not  for  the  poor  women  who  dropped  their  babies 
into  the  Ganges,  but  the  one  nearer  home,  whose  son  was 
drifting  out — out — somewhere  beyond  a  mother's  arms,  and 
thinking  of  the  one  who,  in  His  great  agony,  prayed  for 
Himself. 

On  Thursday  morning  Victor  Hurst  went  back  to  his  dis 
tasteful  employment  with  a  peculiar  energy  and  content.  Less 
than  a  year  of  it,  and  he  had  so  much  to  do  besides.  For  he 
was  ignorant  of  even-thing.  The  rigid  fears  and  scruples  that 
had  shut  out  the  world  of  literature,  left  his  mind  a  kind  of 
blank,  troubled  sea.  What  did  he  know  of  the  old  heroes,  and 
warriors,  and  poets,  whose  names  were  common  food  to  Paul 
Latour's  lips  ?  And  if  he  went  to  the  country  of  th,eir  birth  or 
their  wanderings,  he  must  learn  a  little  of  their  lives. 

The  household  went  on  in  its  olden  groove.  John  Hurst 
laboring  among  the  poor  and  miserable,  trying  to  fit  creeds 
and  beliefs  into  minds  turned  awry  by  many  a  cruel  wrench  ; 
receiving  a  meagre  pittance,  and  bestowing  half  of  that  in 
alms,  taking  his  share  of  meat  out  to  some  starving  laborer, 
his  soft  white  bread  to  the  sickly,  famished  baby.  If  he  was 
sometimes  a  little  hungered,  he  said  to  himself  that  fasting  was 
good  for  the  soul,  made  it  more  earnest  and  fervent  in  prayer. 

But  the  fire  always  burned  cheerfully  on  the  hearth,  with  a 
great,  ruddy,  rollicking  blaze.  Victor  used  to  turn  from  his  pile 
of  books,  and  study  its  emerald  and  violet  heats,  and  the  stur 
dier  scarlet  flashes  that  writhed  up  the  dusky  background  like 


90  With  Fate  against  Him. 

some  tortured  living  thing.  All  sights  and  sounds  came  to 
have  a  new  meaning  for  him  ;  an  under-current  of  subtle  trans 
lation  from  the  material  to  the  intellectual.  What  a  dull  clod 
he  had  been  last  year :  what  a  poor,  weak  fool  farther  back, 
when  he  had  a  hankering  for  the  rough  merriment  of  tavern  steps, 
and  low  songs,  with  a  coarse  banjo  accompaniment  !  And  yet 
it  was  simply  a  boy's  love  for  amusement,  companionship. 

Anah  Hurst  sat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  broad  chimney, 
and  sewed.  Garments  for  the  poor,  sometimes  the  cast-off 
clothes  of  richer  neighbors,  but  as  often  the  product  of  her 
own  small  economies. 

The  distance  between  Victor  Hurst  and  his  parents  grew 
more  sharply  defined.  John  Hurst  had  made  one  protest  against 
infidel  books  being  brought  into  the  house. 

"Very  well,"  was  Victor's  curt,  incisive  answer.  "Where 
my  books  go,  I  go.  I  dare  say  I  can  find  friendly  shelter  in 
town.  And  as  for  infidelity — go  look  through  the  library 
of  your  clerical  brethren  ;  you  will  find  them  all  there." 

So  Victor  and  his  books  remained.  His  mother  used  to 
watch  him  out  of  her  soft,  sad  eyes.  She  made  no  attempts  to 
draw  him  nearer  to  herself:  let  her  get  used  to  the  separation 
by  degrees.  And  he  never  saw  the  lines  settling  in  her  face,  the 
slight  depression  about  the  mouth,  the  delicate  skin  coming 
to  have  a  gray,  wan  look.  He  had  a  right  to  make  the  best 
he  could  out  of  his  own  life. 

And  so  it  came  to  April — four  weeks,  only,  to  May — a  few 
days  between  him  and  freedom. 

"Norcross  wants  to  see  you  in  the  office,  to-night,"  Baxter 
announced  to  him  one  afternoon. 

He  merely  nodded.  After  six  he  washed  his  hands  and 
face,  and  combed  his  tumbled  hair,  the  %vater  drenching  it  with 
bright  amber  tints. 

There,  in  his  arm-chair  covered  with  Russia  leather,  sat  the 
great  man.  Ruddy,  prosperous,  satisfied. 

"Ah,  Hurst!"  glancing  up  at  the  tall  fellow.      "I  sent  for 


With  Fate  against  Him.  91 

you,  to  say,"  tumbling  over  some  papers  to  give  the  matter 
a  more  important  air,  "that — but  I  suppose  you  have  counted 
the  days — your  time  is  up  on  next  Wednesday." 

"Yes."  Very  grave  and  quietly,  as  if  he  might  be  an 
equal. 

Norcross  stared  a  little. 

"What  I  have  to  say,  young  man,"  in  a  sort  of  pompous, 
patronizing  manner,  "is,  that  I  have  heard  a  fair  account  of 
you  from  Baxter; — a  good,  skilful  workman,  steady  and 
sober ;  for  of  late  the  vice  of  drinking  has  increased  terribly 
among  your  class.  I  am  very  glad  for  your  father's  sake. 
Your  father  is  an  excellent  man,  Hurst.  I  hear  noble  stories 
of  him  everywhere." 

"My  father  does  right  according  to  his  belief." 

"And  religion  is  a  good  thing.  I  wish  we  had  more  of  it 
in  the  world." 

"You  would  not  want  his,"  with  a  bitter  smile.  "It  is 
comprised  in  two  words — labor  and  sacrifice." 

The  ruddy  face  was  a  trifle  ruddier,  as  if  some  sarcasm 
underlaid  the  words.  * 

"It  is  a  bad  sign  when  young  men  sneer  at  religion,  the 
great  substratum  of  society  and  morality,"  in  a  rather  sharp, 
dogmatic  tone. 

Victor  was  silent. 

"And  I  was  about  to  say,  that  next  Wednesday  you  may 
consider  yourself  engaged  at  the  highest  journeyman's  wages. 
We  are  pretty  full  of  orders,  now,  and  I  never  let  a  good 
workman  go  if  I  can  help  it.  Baxter  learned  his  trade  here. 
I  always  give  my  boys  the  first  offer." 

"I  am  obliged,  Mr.  Norcross,  but  I  shall  not  stay." 

"Not  stay,  eh!  What's  up?  Why,  Baxter  said  you  had 
been  steady  as  an  old  clock  the  past  ten  months,,  and  that  you 
had  never  been  given  to  beer  or  fooling.  Where  are  you 
going«?  If  wages  is  the  object — " 

"  No,"  still  calmly.     "  I  do  not  mean  to  work  at  my  trade." 


92  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"Why?"  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"I  do  not  like  it,"  as  if  he  was  shaking  off  some  repul 
sive  object  "I  never  have.  I  came  to  it  against  my  will." 

"  Doubtless  your  father  knew  what  was  best  for  you,"  with 
an  air  of  superiority.  "A  trade  is  a  good  thing  for  a  man, 
and  .there's  nothing  like  it  to  steady  a  boy  through  his  most 
dangerous  years." 

"I've  passed  the  danger,  then,"  with  a  rather  ungracious 
laugh. 

"What  do  you  expect  to  do — turn  doctor,  or  lawyer,  or 
travelling  artist  ?" 

"That  is  my  affair,"  with  a  touch  of  the  old  doggedness, 
since  the  words  cut  rather  close. 

"Hurst,  you  are  a  fool!"  with  a  slow  shake  of  the  head. 
"There  is  too  much  of  this  romantic  dissatisfaction  in  the 
world.  You  have  a  good  trade,  a  chance  of  steady  employ 
ment  year  in  and  year  out,  and  the  best  thing  for  you  to  do  is 
to  marry  a  healthy,  happy  girl  in  your  own  station,  and  lead  a 
useful,  industrious  life.  If  more  men  did  this,  it  would  be 
better  for  the  world  in  general.  We  have  too  much  of  this 
maudlin,  sickly  philosophy  already." 

"  A  man  has  a  right  to  do  what  he  likes  with  himself,  I 
suppose  ?" 

"Well,  no,  I  should  say  not.  You  men  who  claim  a 
right  to  starve  are  the  last  ones  to  do  it,  I  observe.  And 
then  you  become  chargeable  to  society  in  the  shape  of  pau 
pers  and  criminals." 

' '  I  am  not  afraid  of  that. " 

It  entered  oddly  enough  into  the  mind  of  Norcross  that  he 
looked  like  a  king  standing  there,  in  his  tawny  crown,  his 
resolute  eyes,  the  indescribable  air  that  in  a  rich  man's  son 
would  have  been  high  breeding,  and  the  symmetrical  figure. 
And  then  wandered  in  a  stray  sentence  of  Baxter's — 

"  His  father  had  some  trouble  with  him  at  first,  bur  he  is 
a  fine  fellow  now." 


With  Fate  against  Him.  93 

Why  should  he  spoil  a  useful  life  for  a  vague  idea  ? 

"I  dare  say  you  thave  been  writing  for  the  magazines," 
with  a  sneer.  Geniuses  seem  to  abound  in  the^commGit 
•walks  of  life,  now-a-days." 

"I  have  not.     That  is  all,  I  believe,  Mr.  Norcross.     Next 
Wednesday  I  will  take  my  freedom,  and  you  will  never  heai'_ 
of  my  becoming  chargeable  to  Weareham." 

With  that  he  bowed  loftily,  though  his  heart  swelled  within 
him,  and  went  out  into  the  balmy  spring  twilight.  It  was 
so  cool  and  fresh,  with  a  fragrance  of  the  south  in  it,  that 
seemed  to  overbear  the  smoke,  and  grease,  and  disagreeable 
smells. 

"They  are  all  of  her  kind,"  he  muttered.  "A  poor  man 
is  nothing  but  a  machine,  and  they  are  always  in  haste  to 
freight  him  with  wife  and  babies  to  drag  him  down  !" 

For  it  seemed  to  him  in  young  manhood  that  women  were 
but  weights  and  clogs,  and  love  a  sham.  That  was  a  part  of 
Paul  Latour's  philosophy. 

"Aha,  Comrade  !" 

Victor  started  in  surprise.  Paul  himself,  looking  slighter, 
and  smaller,  and  darker  than  ever,  with  his  violin  case  in  his 
hand. 

"It  is  May!"  with  the  lightsome  carol  of  a  bird  in  his 
voice.  "And  you  are  ready  for  freedom!  Paf  I  How  do 
you  live  in  this  vile  town  ?  Cologne  is  as  nothing  to  it.  My 
nostrils  are  filled  with  varnish,  and  dyes,  and  smoke,  and  my 
skin  has  a  crocodile's  scale  of  cinders  !" 

"  It  is  unlike  the  woods.  Then  you  have  not  forgotten 
me  ?"  with  a  secret  thrill  of  joy. 

"Forgotten  you?    Did  I  not  promise  ?'' 

Victor  clasped  the  warm  hand.  Latterly  Paul  Latour  and 
the  Bohmerwald  festival  had  appeared  exceedingly  dream 
like  to  him. 

"  My  friend,  are  you  free?  Answer  me  that,"  in  a  tone  of 
childish  eagerness. 


94  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"No,  not  until  next  week.  And  the  winter  has  passed 
rapidly.  I  have  been  learning  to  love  your  old  poets  ;"  with 
a  kindling  eye  and  tender  smile. 

"Ah,  I  knew  you  would.  When  I  want  mirth,  or  sadness, 
or  tragedy,  I  bring  them  out.  Rare  old  jester,  sweet  birds 
of  song !" 

"And  you  came — for  me  ?" 

Paul  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  drew  the  pencilled  brows 
into  an  odd,  petulant  frown. 

"I  should  have  come  for  you  to-morrow.  To-night  I  play 
in  your  villainous  town.  For  a  month  I  have  been  caged, 
chained,  taken  around  like  the  monkey  in  a  show — for  the 
sake  of  a  little  money,  my  friend !  Your  trees  are  too  leafless 
for  birds'  nests  in  winter.  But  when  I  saw  the  sun-brown 
hair  I  said — halt,  here  is  my  friend  of  the  summer  1" 

Victor  laughed  cheerily. 

"You  will  come  home  with  me?" 

"Not  to-night,  comrade.  I  must  away  to  a  rehearsal  in 
place  and  scene.  I  would  ask  you  to  come,  but  it  is  torture 
to  one's  ears.  Second-rate  opera  singers,  and  as  for  musicians 
— I  am  king  among  them — think  of  that!"  with  a  laugh  of 
gay  contempt.  "Ah,  you  will  hear  music  over  there  !" 

' '  And  then — ?" 

"If  you  are  not  ready  I  will  look  in  upon  my  friends  at 
Bohmerwald.  But  to-morrow  I  will  see  you  again.  Addios." 

They  parted  as  their  paths  diverged.  Victor  felt  that  there 
was  no  better  time  for  the  duty  that  lay  before  him  than  this 
very  evening. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

IT  was  a  trifle  cool  this  May  evening,  here  in  the  outskirts 
of  the  town,  so  Anah  Hurst  let  the  logs  smoulder  on  the  hearth, 
instead  of  wetting  them  to  blackened  cinders,  in  her  careful 
fashion.  Victor  brought  down  his  books  and  read  tranquilly 
for  awhile,  then  began  to  chafe  inwardly.  He  had  gained  a 
better  command  over  himself,  but  he  could  hardly  have  been 
considered  more  patient. 

He  had  promised  himself  a  talk  with  his  mother.  This 
night  his  father  had  no  urgent  calls,  it  seemed,  for  he  sat  and 
dozed  in  his  arm-chair.  Victor  wondered  nervously  why  he 
did  not  go  to  bed. 

A  chance  glance  fell  upon  him  and  startled  the  young  man. 
He  was  so  accustomed  to  seeing  his  father  night  and  morning, 
that  the  years  had  come  and  gone  without  his  remarking  any 
change  until  this  moment,  when  the  knowledge  appeared  to 
strike  sharp  against  something  in  his  soul. 

The  head  was  bowed  a  little,  the  smoothly-shaven  chin  rest 
ing  on  the  breast.  There  were  hollows  in  the  temples,  and 
hollows  under  the  high  cheek-bones,  and  the  thin  gray  hair 
straggled  about  wearily,  as  if  it  had  lost  all  healthy  strength. 
The  sunken  eyes  had  leaden  shadows  underneath,  and  the  skin 
was  ashen  gray.  The  under-jaw  had  fallen  a  trifle,  and  he 
looked  death-like  in  this  stillness. 

An  old  man.  A  soul  that  had  worn  out  the  body  in  vain 
efforts  to  teach  the  pauper  rabble  yonder,  to  save  them — fit 
them  for  heaven,  and  he  smiled  with  a  little  scorn.  And  when 
a  day  came  in  which  he  could  labor  no  longer,  what  then? 

If  there  was  anything  in  the  religion  they  taught,  if  it  made 


g6  With  Fate  against  Him. 

people  tender  and  considerate  of  others,  generous,  loving  as 
their  great  Leader  loved,  they  would  never  let  this  man,  who 
had  given  up  all  for  the  cause,  come  to  any  want.  They  would 
shelter  and  care  for  him  in  his  old  age,  they  would  give  him  a 
little  foretaste  of  rest  before  he  reached  the  other  country. 
There  were  societies  who  made  no  pretensions  to  anything  but 
morals,  and  yet  did  this. 

The  old  mahogany  clock  in  the  corner  struck  nine.  That 
roused  him.  He  stared  wildly  about  for  a  moment,  out  of 
pale  eyes  dazed  by  sudden  contact  with  the  light.  The  thin 
hands  trembled  as  he  tried  to  grasp  the  chair-arms. 

"I  must  have  fallen  into  a  doze  ;"  the  voice  quivering  with' 
a  kind  of  piteous  accent.  "I  think — I'll  go  to  bed.  I  wonder 
why  I  should  be  so  tired  !  The  flesh  is  weak — weak." 

He  swayed  forward  as  he  rose,  but  after  a  moment 
steadied  himself.  Anah  lighted  another  candle. 

"  I  will  go  up  with  you,"  she  said,  gravely. 

Once,  and  not  very  long  ago,  John  Hurst's  step  had  been 
vigorous  and  forcible.  Not  full  of  ring  and  elasticity,  but  the 
solid,  unswerving  will  of  the  man.  To-night  it  seemed  to 
stumble  over  the  steps,  as  if  it  could  not  be  lifted  high  enough, 
and  in  the  room  overhead  it  shuffled  weakly.  Yes,  an  old 
man,  worn  out  before  his  time!  And  the  promise,  "As  thy 
day  so  shall  thy  strength  be,"  was  a  bitter  mockery  to  Victor 
Hurst. 

He  heard  the  voice  falter  slowly  through  a  prayer.  Yes,  it 
was  greatly  changed.  Some  uncomfortable  touch  of  conscience 
pricked  him.  After  he  was  gone — 

"But  he  gave  his  life  for  them,  not  me,"  he  muttered 
fiercely.  And  if  there  is  anything  in  it  all — why  it  should  be  a 
stronger  bond  even  than  blood." 

Was  it  his  duty  to  stay  here  and  give  up  his  own  prospects 
when  he  had  no  hand  in  the  sacrifice  ? 

He  rose  and  paced  the  floor  impatiently.  Why  should 
these  perplexing  thoughts  haunt  him  now,  of  all  times  ! 


With  Fate  against  Him.  97 

He  heard  the  soft  step  at  last,  and  the  door  was  pushed 
aside,  but  in  his  walk  to  that  end  of  the  room  he  closed  it 
again.  Mrs.  Hurst  began  to  fasten  the  shutters,  gathered  her 
sewing  in  the  wide  basket,  and  smothered  the  fire. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you — "  as  she  stood,  undecided. 

She  caught  the  husky  strand  in  his  voice,  and  a  great  spasm 
ran  through  her  frame. 

"Are  you  cold?     Here  is  your  shawl." 

A  little  square  of  gray  flannel  bound  with  brown  ribbon. 
He  folded  it  awkwardly  over  her  shoulders. 

"No,  I  am  not  cold,"  in  a  curiously  calm  voice.  How 
slow  of  brain  and  fine  sense  men  were. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you, — next  Wednesday  I  shall  be  twenty- 
one  ;"  going  at  once  to  the  point  instead  of  any  tender,  fem 
inine  beating  about. 

"Yes,"  slowly,  looking  at  the  flickering  blaze  of  the  candle, 
but  seeing  only  darkness  about  her. 

"Sit  down;"  for  she  appeared  pale  and  tired,  it  seemed  to 
him.  "  It  will  be — quite  a  long  story." 

She  dropped  into  her  low  rocker,  and  he  began  to  pace  the 
floor  again.  It  took  him  so  much  farther  away — out  of  her 
steady  gaze,  for  the  eyes  were  set  and  could  not  follow  him  up 
and  down. 

"  I  am  going  away — as  I  said  before.  I've  stayed  so  that  no 
one's  word  might  t>e  broken,  and  next  Wednesday  I  shall  be 
quite  free." 

Quite  free — owing  no  one  any  duty,  any  tenderness,  any 
thought  for  the  old  age  closing  round,  the  sickness  or  poverty 
that  might  befall.  Oh,  yes,  quite  free  ! 

"And  if  you  would  like  to  know  my  plans" — a  trifle  an 
noyed  at  her  silence. 

"Yes,  I  should,  Victor;"  still  calmly.  If  she  had  swerved 
one  hair's  breadth,  it  would  have  been  her  confession  to  her 
son,  not  his  to  her. 

"I  have  told  you  about  Paul  Latour.     We  made  a  plan 
5 


98  With  Fate  against  Him. 

last  summer,  only  I  did  not  know  how  well  he  was  to  be 
depended  upon  then,  to  go  away  together.  I  saw  him  to 
night.  " 

"The  musician — yes  ;-"  rocking  herself  to  and  fro. 
"We  are  going  to  Europe.  I  have  some  kind  of  genius 
in  me  I  know,"  his  voice  dropping  to  a  sturdy,  persistent 
key.  "It  will  come  out  there.  As  for  this  old  life,  you 
know  I've  always  hated  it  !  It  has  been  daily  martyrdom  to 
rne  down  there  in  the  shop.  Father  did  it  for  the  best," 
rather  more  softly. 

"Yes,  he  did.  I  want  you  always  to  think  of  it  in  that 
light ;"  an  earnestness  gleaming  up  her  pale  face. 

"  I  wonder  that  he  ever  had  such  a  child  !"  with  an  abrupt, 
half-laugh  that  was  used  instead  of  an  exclamation.  "There 
is  not  one  likeness  between  us— mental  or  physical.  I  can't 
understand,  somehow.  And  he  has  seemed  to  go  against  every 
cherished  hope  of  my  life,  but  he  meant  it  in  kindness,  no 
doubt.  He  never  sees  anything  as  I  see  it,  and  after  all,  a  man's 
own  feelings  and  wishes  are  best  to  himself.  I  wanted  the 
chance  at  engraving,  you  know  ?" 

"But  that  would  have  taken  you  entirely  away  from  home, 
thrown  you  among  strangers.  And  Mr.  Maverick's  character 
was  notoriously  bad.  No,  /  couldn't  have  thrust  you  into 
such  temptation." 

A  scornful  smile  crossed  his  face  and  worked  in  his  nostrils. 
"Because  the  Norcross  men  were  church  members  he 
thought  the  shop  was  like  a  daily  prayer-meeting.  He  stop 
ped  me  in  the  first  complaint  that  I  ever  made,  and  I  thought 
then  that  if  I  was  led  to  perdition  I  never  would  utter  another. 
But  I've  heard  oaths  and  stories  there  that  would  chill  any 
nice,  clean  blood.  I've  seen  some  of  the  men  too  drunk  to 
stand.  Connor  had  the  delirium  tremens  last  winter,  but  he 
is  a  splendid  workman  when  sober.  They  can't  answer  for 
every  one,  you  know.  However,  I  have  kept  myself  free  from 
the  curse  ! 


With  Fate  against  Him.  99 

"Thank  God.    I  think  there  is  still  some — " 

"Grace  left  in  me,"  with  a  short  laugh.  "Well,  I  have 
had  some  finer  impulses.  I  don't  believe  I  should  have  been 
as  bad  and  restless  in  boyhood  if  I  had  had  a  good  strong 
interest,  books  of  the  right  kind  to  read,  and  all  that.  But 
learning  Psalms  was  my  abomination  !  I  don't  believe  that 
I'm  naturally  religious." 

"None  of  us  are.  We  are  saved  by  God's  grace  only.  Our 
righteousness  would  be  filthy  rags  in  His  sight." 

"Mother,  I've  come  to  believe  differently,  if  I  have  any 
belief  at  all.  Every  good  act  must  be  better  in  His  sight  than 
a  vile  one.  And  it  seems  to  me  a  religion  that  will  not  keep 
men  truthful  or  honest,  is  not  worth  much.  Yet  how  many 
men  overreach  in  a  bargain,  or  grind  the  faces  of  the  poor — 
cheat  the  widow  and  the  orphan  !" 

"Oh,  Victor,  don't  rail  !     It  cuts  me  to  the  quick.'' 

"  I  never  knew  you  or  my  father  to  tell  a  lie,  and  you  give 
on  every  hand,  instead  of  taking.  But  we'll  let  religion  alone. 
I  cannot  see  through  his  eyes,  or  think  with  his  brain.  He 
never  understood  my  commonest  want,  from  the  day  he  refused 
me  sugar  in  my  tea  until  now.  And  very  likely  I  fret  him, 
jar  upon  his  most  tender  nerves.  So  you  see  we  shall  be  bet 
ter  friends  apart." 

Not  a  word  of  her.  Had  she  come  to  be  nothing  in  her 
son's  life  ? 

"But  what  will  you  do ?"  in  a  vague,  distressed  tone,  wring 
ing  the  thin  fingers. 

"  Work  my  way.  I  am  young  and  strong.  I'll  try  all 
things  until  I  come  to  the  one  I  like,  and  I  fancy  that  it 
will  be  something  fit  for  a  gentleman.  Did  you  ever  imag 
ine  that  I  could  be  satisfied  over  yonder  in  the  machine- 
shop  ?" 

"Oh,  my  child,  it  is  so  hard  to  know  what  is  right;"  with  a 
sob  just  under  her  breath. 

"  But  you  understand  that  it  is  best  for  me  to  go  away.     I 


TOO  With  Fate  against  Him. 

want  to  travel — to  see  men  and  life.  I  have  a  great,  hungry 
soul,  that  utterly  refuses  the  milk-and-water  diet  on  which 
some  fatten.  I  should  be  restless  and  miserable  here." 

She  felt  every  word.  More  than  all,  she  knew  how  he  came 
by  these  fine  instincts — this  ambition.  He  should  have  been 
born  among  eagles.  And  yet  her  heart  cried  out  for  the  one 
comfort  of  her  life. 

' '  How  long  should  you  stay  ?" 

Her  voice  was  husky,  and  she  held  her  hand  over  her  eyes, 
as  if  to  shade  them  from  the  light.  But  she  need  not  have  been 
so  scrupulous,  he  was  not  on  the  watch  for  tears. 

"I  don't  know ;"  slowly.  "Until  I  had  done  something 
that  would  give  me  a  place  at  home,  in  my  own  country  I 
mean,  for  I  should  never  come  back  here,  the  very  sight  of  it 
is  hateful  in  my  eyes." 

"And  I  should  be  dead,"  in  a  low  tone. 

"Dead — in  a  few  years  !"  but  the  expression  of  unbelief  died 
away  on  his  lips.  Then  he  came  nearer.  "Mother,"  he  said, 
in  a  voice  of  strong  emotion,  "do  you  want  me  to  stay,  and 
live  a  poor,  miserable,  dissatisfied  life — never  be  anything  ?  I 
think  it  is  in  me  to  rise.  I  want  freedom  and  a  broad  space. 
I  could  make  no  one  believe  in  me  here ;  for  they  would 
always  believe  in  the  smoke  and  grime  of  the  shop  instead. 
Why,  a  few  hours  ago  even,  Norcross  advised  me  to  stick  to 
work,  to  marry  in  my  own  station — which  is  so  much  lower 
than  his,  of  course." 

"Oh  !"  she  murmured,  with  a  strangely  soft  intonation  ;  for 
somehow,  the  picture  of  wife  and  little  children  seemed  sweet 
to  her  lonely,  aching  heart. 

"And  when  I  looked  at  his  coarse  skin,  and  his  stubby, 
squat  features — for  they  all  appear  to  be  crowded  together — 
and  the  overlaying  of  gross  flesh  with  which  ease  has  covered 
his  square  frame,  I  couldn't  help  thinking,  that  so  far  as  mere 
physique  went,  I  stood  on  a  plane  above  him.  And  as  for  soul 
— how  much  is  there  in  his  small,  faded,  blue  eyes?  Yet, 


With  Fate  against  Him.  101 

people  looking  at  his  gold,  call  him  handsome  and  a  gentle 
man  !     Faugh !" 

"  He  is  a  good  man,  and  so  was  his  father." 

"Good  !  It  is  easy  to  fling  away  a  little  gold  when  a  man's 
pockets  are  gorged  with  it,  and  his  stomach  full  and  comforta 
ble  of  the  very  fat  of  the  land  !  Why,  a  thousand  to  him  is  no 
more  than  a  penny  to  you.  But  if  there's  anything  in  blood, 
as  some  people  believe,"  remembering  Sylvia's  complacent 
verdict,  "I  fancy  he  has  a  small  share  of  the  old  blue  current. 
And  I  wanted  to  ask  you  who  the  Hursts  were  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  Your  father  came  from  Albany,  and  had 
few  if  any  relatives." 

"You,  then?  For  I  have  a  current  in  my  veins,  I  fancy, 
that  is  purer  and  clearer  than  that  of  most  people,  with  a 
strength  and  daring  in  it  which  means  something.  But  maybe 
it  is  brain." 

' '  Our  family  was  good,  with  a  Scotch  descent,  the  Mc- 
Raes  ;"  a  little  pride  lowering  her  voice  to  fineness,  ^f 

"Maybe  I  have  some  of  the  Scotch  persistence  ;  but  what  I 
feel  strongest  is  a  kind  of  odd,  glowing,  fiery  life,  not  unlike 
that  of  a  handsome  thorough-bred,  rarely  driven.  It  is  the 
being  put  to  carting  and  rough  work  that  makes  me  cry  out. 
I  like  those  old  Greeks  and  Romans,  of  whom  I  have  been 
reading  this  winter.  I  suppose  you  cannot  understand  me, 
and  think  it  foolish  ;"  pausing  abruptly,  and  with  a  little  tes- 
tiness  in  his  voice. 

"Yes,  I  understand."  Hers  was  full  of  curious  flickering 
hollows,  as  if  she  were  out  of  doors,  and  it  came  to  him  over 
hill  and  dale.  "I  understand.  I  have  known  it  always." 

"Then  you  must  know  what  martyrdom  my  life — would 
be — "  He  meant  to  say,  "is,"  but  he  had  hardly  the  graceless 
courage. 

"Yes.  It  will  be  best  for  you  to  go.  When  doves  hatch 
eagles  they  must  look  to  see  them  fly  skyward  ;"  in  a  resolute 
voice,  as  if  she  were  passing  sentence  on  herself. 


IO2  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"I  am  glad  to  have  you  look  at  it  in  this  light." 

"I  expected  you  to  go."  Now  that  she  had  resolved,  she 
threw  the  old  life  behind  her,  and  was  brave.  When  the  heart 
has  been  crushed,  what  matters  the  body  ? 

"Only — I  should  like  to  know  your  plans,  if  you  will 
tell  me." 

"I  have  been  doing  over-work,  and  saved  a  little  money — 
a  hundred  dollars.  Everything  is  so  much  cheaper  abroad, 
and  you  can  travel  the  continent  over  with  a  knapsack  and 
staff.  Paul  has  been  everywhere.  And  if  I  am  to  be  an  artist, " 
recalling  the  sneer  Mr.  Norcross  had  given,  "I  shall  find  my 
inspiration  under  those  balmy,  golden  skies." 

"Oh!"  with  the  first  touch  of  pride  that  she  experienced. 
"  When  will  you  go  ?" 

"As  soon  as  I  can  after  Wednesday.  I  see  no  use  of  waiting." 

"  No  !"  with  a  little  gasp  that  was  fain  to  shape  itself  into  a 
sob,  and  curbed  only  by  her  strong  power  of  repression. 

For  she  deemed  it  unwise,  as  well  as  useless  to  persuade  him 
against  his  will.  There  really  was  nothing  for  him  here.  He 
was  fitted  for  something  higher  and  finer  than  shop-labor,  and 
in  spite  of  John  Hurst's  rigid  training,  it  had  managed  to  thrive 
apace.  And  she  had  a  fancy  that  they  two,  husband  and  wife, 
would  be  happier  when  he  was  gone.  His  presence  disturbed 
her  tranquil  faith,  filled  her  with  doubt  and  perplexity,  and 
took  her  mind  from  her  duties  to  those  around  her.  If  she 
could  only  be  clear  as  to  her  duty  concerning  him  ;  but  will 
and  duty  lay  far  apart  here.  And  if  she  made  this  last  sacri 
fice  of  human  affection,  laid  him  upon  the  altar  like  another 
Isaac,  would  not  her  duty  be  done? 

' '  I  should  like  to  ask  Paul  here.  He  is  very  different  from 
— most  of  the  people  with  whom  you  and  my  father  associate. 
But  he  suits  me  ;"  with  a  touch  of  defiance  in  his  tone. 

"I  know  that  we  cannot  choose  friends  for  you ;"  sighing 
a  little. 

"And  when  I  am  gone,   don't  worry  about  me.     I  shall 


With  Fate  against  Him.  103 

do  well  enough ;  a  great  fellow  like  me,  with  youth  and  health, 
ought,  I'm  sure.  I  shall  write  often  to  you,  and  at,  the  last, 
whatever  I  win  you  shall  share  with  me.  I  think  you'll  not 
miss  me  long,  and  you  will  be  rid  of  a  deal  of  care !" 

Ah,  how  little  he  understood  a  mother's  love.  Glad  to  be 
rid  of  the  trouble  of  her  child— and  no  other  growing  up  to 
take  his  place  ?  Ah,  blind,  pitiless  youth  ! 

"Would  my  father  object,  I  wonder?  Other  young  men 
are  free  to  invite  friends." 

"He  will  not  object." 

She  meant  to  take  care  of  that.  During  this  last  week  of 
his  life  with  them,  he  should  not  be  fretted,  nor  have  any  hard 
remembrances  to  take  with  him.  If  she  sat  in  sackcloth  and 
ashes  afterward,  if  she  fasted  and  prayed  that  the  devil  of  pas 
sionate  and  unsanctified  love  should  be  cast  out  of  her,  that 
would  be  a  matter  between  her  and  God.  Victor  need  never 
know. 

For  she  had  a  vague  presentiment  that  she  should  never  see 
him  again.  If  he  should  raise  himself  to  the  height  of  his 
aspiration,  she  would  not  be  a  fit  companion  for  him  in  that  finer 
and  more  cultured  world  in  which  he  meant  to  play  his  part.  An 
old  woman  in  plain  caps  and  a  stuff  gown — when  those  whom 
he  would  learn  to  admire  went  clad  in  rich  silks  and  soft  laces  ! 

"  I  have  not  said  a  word  to  him  yet ;"  studying  the  snowy 
boards  of  the  floor.  "  I  wanted  to  tell  you  first." 

"  I  think  I  had  better  explain  it  to  him — " 

"I'm  not  a  coward,  mother,  to  shift  this  load  to  your 
shoulders.  He  may  feel  tempted  to  lay  the  blame  of  my 
defection  on  your  over-indulgence,"  with  a  short  laugh. 

"  I  can  make  him  understand  it  more  easily,  I  think.  My 
blood  is  cooler  than  yours,  and  I  shall  be  more  patient." 

He  was  very  glad  to  be  relieved  of  it,  and  yet  it  seemed 
a  shabby  thing  to  him.  He  dreaded  to  discuss  the  matter 
with  his  father,  for  he  knew  well  that  he  would  meet  with 
opposition  and  intolerance. 


IO4  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"If  you  wish  to,"  he  rejoined,  slowly. 

"I  do." 

Then  she  rose,  for  it  seemed  as  if  her  burden  was  as  great 
as  she  could  bear.  One  straw  more  might  force  the  waiting 
cry  through  her  bloodless  lips. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said  on  his  side.  He  had 
stated  his  case  very  clearly  and  forcibly,  he  thought;  convinced 
her,  and  won  her  assent.  Ah,  he  could  not  see  the  underly 
ing  current.  Well  perhaps  that  it  was  so. 

Anah  Hurst  went  about  the  house  the  next  day  like  one  in 
a  deep  shadow.  It  seemed  to  look  out  of  the  lengthened 
twilight  of  her  eyes,  to  hover  about  her  pale  compressed  lips. 
More  than  once  she  essayed  to  open  the  subject  with  her  hus 
band,  for  it  seemed  a  rather  quiet  time  with  him.  He  sat  in 
his  arm-chair  and  read  a  good  deal, — meditations  of  holy 
Christian  men  who  had  given  their  lives  and  all  they  pos 
sessed  to  the  cause,  who  had  dedicated  their  children  to 
God's  service,  and  trained  them  up  to  bear  fruit  for  the  Mas 
ter.  Once  or  twice  she  came  and  glanced  over  his  shoulder, 
then  shrank  away,  stricken  to  the  heart's  core. 

The  afternoon  drew  to  a  close.  She  stirred  her  fire  and  put 
on  the  kettle.  The  sewing  in  her  basket  had  been  finished, 
and  the  knitting  was  in  no  haste  now.  So  by  and  by  she  said 
softly,  "Johnl" 

He  started,  and  his  book  fell  to  the  floor. 

" I  believe  I  was  dozing  ;"  with  a  feeble  smile.  "Did  you 
speak  ?" 

"Yes;"  glancing  fearfully  at  the  clock.  Just  half  an 
hour's  grace  before  Victor  would  come  to  supper,  bringing 
his  friend,  perhaps.  "  I  had  something  to  tell  you,  to  discuss 
with  you,  though  it  is  all  settled, — for  the  best,  let  us  trust. 
I  think  it  is  God's  will." 

He  looked  into  her  grave,  troubled  face.  She  remembered 
afterward  what  a  curiously  vague  expression  there  was  in  his 


With  Fate  against  Him.  io5 

eye,  and  how  the  muscles  of  his  thin  face  seemed  to  twitch 
beyond  his  control. 

She  said  her  say  with  a  wife's  tender  grace  and  a  mother's 
devotion  to  her  son's  cause.  No  one  knew  better  than  she 
how  to  explain  Victor's  waywardness. 

Victor  Hurst  crossed  the  lots  fifteen  minutes  later  and  came 
up  on  the  left  side  of  the  porch.  The  vines  had  not  grown 
into  their  summer  profusion  of  leaf  and  bloom.  He  halted 
a  moment,  attracted  by  the  low-lying  level  bars  of  light  in  the 
western  sky.  A  peculiar  gray-looking  sunset,  with  a  storm 
brooding  a  little  farther  back,  to  come  with  the  dawn,  perhaps. 

And  these  words  floated  out  to  him,  in  a  trembling,  hollow 
tone, 

"  I've  tried  to  do  my  duty — I  think  God  will  bear  me  wit 
ness.  But  sometimes  I've  fancied  that  if  I'd  had  a  child  of  my 
own  flesh  and  blood,  I  might  have  learned  something  by  the 
very  tie  which  God  gives  to  open  our  eyes,  to  teach  us  wisdom 
and  strength.  I've  tried  to  love  him,  but  he  always  kept  away 
as  if  he  knew.  I  never  meant  to  make  any  difference,  but 
perhaps  I've  been  ignorant.  How  could  I  tell  ?" 

•  A  swarthy  flush  crossed  the  young  face,  in  which  there  was 
the  purple  agony  of  black,  bitter  pain.  He  moved  noiselessly 
away,  dragging  his  limbs  as  if  they  had  been  palsied.  Not 
John  Hurst's  son  !  When  he  had  said,  with  boyish  heat,  that 
not  a  drop  of  the  man's  blood  ran  in  his  veins,  he  had 
never  dreamed  of  a  shameful,  hidden  truth  ! 

He  crawled  down  to  the  old  apple-tree,  whose  clustering 
buds  were  faintly  scenting  the  air,  and  threw  himself  at  the 
moss-grown  base,  sick  with  passionate  anguish.  Not  John 
Hurst's  son  1 

5* 


CHAPTER  IX. 

JOHN  HURST  and  his  wife  sat  a  long  while  over  their  simple 
tea-table,  though  neither  of  them  ate  anything.  She  had  per 
suaded  him  into  taking  some  tea,  and  he  sipped  it  idly  in  an 
absent,  wandering  fashion ;  a  strange  grayness  settling  about 
his  temples  and  the  tremulous  mouth,  which  could  not  steady 
itself  for  the  aguish  nervousness. 

Her  tears  dropped  silently.  They  had  been  going  over  the 
old  life ;  and  though  in  his  great  love  for  her  he  had  never 
questioned  the  wisdom  of  their  marriage  before,  he  felt  weak 
and  uncertain  now.  He  had  wished  then  to  save  her  from 
pain  and  shame,  for  how  much  of  the  world  would  have 
believed  her  story  as  he  did.  He  understood  so  well  the 
sweetness  and  purity  of  her  nature,  and  the  strand  of  womanly 
tenderness  underlying  it  all,  the  fine  sensitive  nerves  th'at 
could  be  wrung  and  tortured  by  the  merest  word  or  look.  In 
his  keeping  she  would  be  so  secure  !  The  child  would  be  to' 
him  like  a  son. 

It  had  not  come  to  pass.  And  now  he  saw  her  heart  torn 
by  a  divided  duty.  What  if  he  should  relinquish  his  claim  ? 
Would  she  go  with  her  son  ? 

They  waited  unconsciously  for  Victor.  Then  his  mother  set 
the  tea  down  by  the  coals,  and  washed  the  dishes  they  had 
used.  Always  after  supper  came  the  time  for  family  prayers. 
John  Hurst  waited  until  the  candle  was  lighted,  and  then  drew 
forth  the  old  Bible  to  read  the  chapter.  His  voice  faltered  as 
if  some  vital  chord  had  met  with  a  sudden  rough  jar,  and 
could  not  readily  swing  back  into  the  old  groove. 

The  faded  leathern  cover  was  closed,  and  the  glasses  care- 


IVitJi  Fate  against  Him.  107 

fully  wiped  and  laid  atop.  They  then  knelt  for  their  evening 
prayer. 

John  Hurst  led  a  blameless,  self-sacrificing  life ;  his  pur 
poses  were  honorable  and  right  in  the  sight  of  all  men,  and 
if  he  exacted  ought  from  others,  he  gave  twice  that  himself. 
But  he  always  looked  at  the  duty  first :  the  terror  of  the  law 
before  the  benignity  of  love.  If  he  had  little  indulgence  for 
the  follies  of  others,  he  had  less  yet  for  his  own;  but  any  great 
sin  found  in  him  a  tender  comforter  when  the  first  stern  judg 
ment  had  passed. 

To-night  he  prayed  fervently  for  the  boy.  All  the  old  love 
with  which  he  had  watched  his  baby  steps  seemed  to  come  out. 
Anah  listened  in  dim  amaze.  A  strange,  soft  tremor  in  his 
voice:  little  pauses  as  if  now  and  then  he  could  hardly  remem 
ber  what  he  most  wished  to  say.  And  he  supplicated  for  grace 
and  patience  to  help  them  bear  whatever  burdens  might  be 
sent  upon  them,  to  enable  them  to  make  any  sacrifice  de 
manded  by  God,  that  their  eyes  might  be  slow  to  perceive. 

He  came  and  kissed  her  afterward.  It  was  so  long  since 
he  had  done  this.  In  his  eagerness  to  crucify  self,  he  had 
well-nigh  relinquished  human  affection  and  desires. 

"Anah,"  he  said,  picking  at  his  thin  fingers,  "I  have 
been  studying  over  a  subject  near  and  vital  to  us  both.  I  think 
the  Lord  has  granted  me  strength  to  see  aright.  It.  may  "be 
your  duty  lies  with  him,  the  boy,"  nodding  his  head  feebly  to 
the  shadowy  window  distance.  "And  if  you  like  to  go — " 

"Oh,  no,  no,  John!  My  vow  is  to  you.  Did  you  think 
that  meanly  of  me  ?  And  if  I  cared  to  go,  he  does  not  want 
me!"  with  passionate  sadness  in  her  voice.  "He  can  carve 
out  his  own  fortune,  and  has  outgrown  baby-love  and  fondness. 
No,  I  belong  to  you.  All  my  duty  now  lies  to  you  and  to 
God  " 

There  was  something  in  the  puzzled,  abstracted  face  quite 
new  to  her,  and  an  air  of  groping,  as  if  he  had  lost  his  way 
in  some  mysterious  fashion.  A  week  ago  he  was  strong  and 


io8  With  Fate  against  Him. 

resolute,  to-night  he  seemed  to  wish  to  cling  to  her,  although 
he  would  not  so  much  as  stretch  out  his  wasted  fingers. 

She  drew  one  arm  around  her  neck. 

"I  can  never  forget,  John,  how  many  years  you  have  given 
shelter  to  the  boy  and  me,  a  name  when  we  might  have  been 
nameless.  I  said  then — 'Till  death  do  us  part,'  and  I  mean 
it  to-night.  If  I  have  sometimes  failed  in  duty  or  love,"  and 
she  tried  hard  to  keep  back  the  emotion  that  choked  her  and 
stifled  all  the  air  about,  "forgive.  There  will  be  only  us 
two  to  love  to  the  end." 

With  that  her  days  of  wearisome  doubt  were  ended.  Her 
duty  was  here.  Let  youth  follow  its  wayward  will — as  she  had 
once;  but  experience  told  her  not  to  long  for  golden  apples  on 
that  far  shore  where  the  lifeless,  sluggish  sea  washed  out  their 
flavor.  And  yet  how  she  had  wavered  betwixt  the  two!  How  she 
had  doubted  and  questioned  God  ! 

John  Hurst  took  her  to  his  heart.  She  thought,  with  a 
curious  thrill,  how  much  stronger  she  seemed  of  the  two. 
Besides  the  wife's  love,  cajjed  into  action  again,  there  was  a 
sense  of  protection,  as  if  she  would  be  needed  ere  long  to 
shield  him  from  some  unseen  blow. 

"I  am  tired,"  he  said,  presently.  "I  think  I  will  not  wait 
for  Victor.  Something  has  detained  him.  Will  you  light  my 
candle?" 

She  carried  it  up  for  him.  His  breath  came  hard  and  short, 
and  his  feet  dragged  slowly.  Her  step  was  like  a  girl's,  and  she 
seemed  strong  enough  to-night  for  anything, — quite  like  the 
old  time  youth.  Then  she  sat  by  the  open  window  and  sang 
for  him  until  he  fell  asleep. 

Before  she  went  down  she  passed  her  hand  softly  over  the 
thin  hair,  murmuring,  "  Poor  John  !  dear,  brave  soul !  I  never 
knew  until  to-night  how  deep  the  pain  had  gone  !     A  son|fL 
his  own,  who,  perhaps,  would  not  desert  him  in  his  old  age. 
God  forgive  us  for  our  blindness  and  cruelty." 

Victor  had  not  come  yet.     The  lonesome  kitchen  struck  a^ 


With  Fate  against  Him.  109 

chill  to  her  very  soul,  and  throwing  a  shawl  over  her  head,  she 
walked  down  the  path  to  the  silent,  deserted  street.  It  was 
quite  cloudy  now,  with  drifts  scudding  about  the  sky,  blown 
by  the  fresh  spring  wind.  After  she  had  been  out  awhile  she 
could  distinguish  the  shapes  of  the  trees  as  the  coming  storm 
writhed  about  in  their  branches.  Where  was  Victor  ?  Were 
he  and  his  friend  Paul  making  arrangements — laying  in  a  little 
store  of  the  articles  they  would  need  ? 

Ah,  well  !  she  had  given  him  all  that  was  necessary  out  of 
her  life.  Days  and  nights  of  watchful  care,  love,  devotion ; 
denying  herself  little  gratifications  that  he  might  have  the 
more. 

And  yet  how  strange  !  The  old  morbid  feeling  about  it  was 
all  gone.  She  would  be  content  to  stathere,  a  poor,  childless, 
forgotten  woman,  for  it  would  copeJp  that  in  time. 

When  she  was  tired  of  her  fruitless  waiting  at  the  gate,  she 
bethought  herself  that  there  was  -no  fresh  water  for  night,  and 
taking  the  pail,  went  down  to  the  well.  Something  stirred 
under  the  old  apple-tree,  and  caused  her  to  give  a  little  cry  of 
affright. 

"It  is  I,  mother ;  do  not  be  alarmed." 

If  it  had  not  been, for  the  "mother"  in  the  sentence,  she 
would  not  have  known  the  voice — so  hoarse,  and  strained,  and 
changed. 

"Victor!"  with  wild  apprehension,  her  usually  soft  tones 
rendered  shrill  by  terror. 

"Yes,  mother!"  with  the  impatience  of  some  mortal  pain 
or  wound. 

"Where  have  you  been?  The  supper  has  waited  for 
hours  !" 

"Supper  !  I  could  never  eat  another  mouthful  in  that  house 
if  I  were  starving  !  Oh,  mother,  mother  !" 

"What  is  it,  Victor?"  stretching  out  her  arms  through  the 
dark  and  finding  her  child's  face,  which  burned  against  her 
soft,  cool  hand. 


no  With  Fate  against  Him. 

i 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  hoarsely,  putting  her  away  with  £ 

rough  movement.    "It  is  the  blight  and  stain  on  my  own  life, 
that  I  never  knew  until  now  !" 

"The  blight!"  and  a  sudden  shiver  seized  her  in  a  giant's 
grasp.  "  The  shame — " 

"Yes!"  She  felt  that  he  was  rising  from  the  ground.  "  I 
am  not  John  Hurst's  child,  but  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  know 
my  father's  name !" 

"Oh,  my  God!" 

She  was  silent  so  long,  that  he  feared  she  had  fainted,  and 
reached  out  his  hand  to  find  her  kneeling  within  an  arm's 
length  of  him. 

"  Mother  !"  in  a  gentler  tone. 

"Who  told  you  that?"  But  her  voice  was  like  a  reed  in  a 
storm. 

"I  heard  him  say  so.  I  came  home  earlier  than  usual — 
across  the  lot ;  and  just  as  I  struck  the  porch,  he  said  his  wish 
had  been  for  a  child  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood.  But  he  shall 
never  again  look  upon  a  sight  so  hateful  in  his  eyes.  I  don't 
know  why  I  have  stayed  here,  like  a  blind,  helpless  fool — 

"Hush  !"  she  said,  peremptorily.  "You  and  I  owe  him  a 
great  deal.  God  knows  how  grand  and  generous  his  heart  has 
been. " 

"A  home  and  a  name  !"  angrily.  "I  wish  he  had  let  me 
die  an  outcast  instead  !" 

' '  People  do  not  always  die  ;"  steadying  her  voice. 

"So  you  see,  if  I  had  never  gone  before,  I  must  go  now  ;" 
with  a  bitter,  scornful  laugh.  "I  have  been  crazy  to  loiter 
here.  I  should  have  stolen  away,  like  the  thing  I  am,  under 
shelter  of  night." 

Every  word  stabbed  her.  For  a  moment  the  agony  appeared 
greater  than  she  could  bear. 

"I  think  I  have  a  right  to  some  justification  in  my  son's 
eyes.  No  living  soul  besides  my  husband  and  I  is  aware  of 
the  secret.  It  is  not  quite  what  you  imagine." 


With  Fate  against  Him.  1 1 1 

Something  in  her  voice,  strong  with  anguish,  yet  strangely 
clear  and  proud,  moved  him. 

"  You  were  married,  then  !"  gasping  painfully. 

Where  could  the  story  be  told  better  than  under  the  cover  of 
night  and  darkness  ?  For  now  he  must  know  and  judge. 
Since  he  had  heard  that  much,  a  mystery  of  the  rest  would  be 
of  no  avail. 

"I  considered  myself  married.  I  went  through  an  honorable 
ceremony  by  a  person  I  then  supposed  to  be  a  clergyman.  I 
was  inexperienced,  and  had  led  a  most  secluded  life  ;  besides, 
then  I  had  no  reason  to  doubt  my — my  lover,"  with  a  strong 
effort.  "For  three  months  I  was  a  happy  wife — oh,  God  !" 

Victor  caught  the  pain  in  her  voice,  something  that  strained 
it  to  its  utmost  tension. 

"And  when  you  blame  any  one  let  it  be  me,  wild  with  grief 
as  I  was  then ;  but  not  the  man  who,  in  spite  of  it  all,  offered 
me  his  love  and  his  name ;  who  was  tender,  patient,  and  in  all 
these  years  has  uttered  no  word  of  regret ;  who  to-night  breathed 
the  first  wish  that  I  ever  heard  him  utter.  You  might  have 
been  a  son  to  him," 

"  But  fate  was  against  me  !"  in  a  shrill  tone,  which  had  in  it 
the  sense  of  bitter,  acrid  pain. 

"  Was  it  ?  Or  some  far  curse  of  blood  that  kept  you  always 
fretting  and  angered  ?  He  gave  me  my  free  choice  to-night, 
to  go  with  you,  or  stay ;  and  1  chose  the  love  that  had  been 
tried  to  the  utmost  and  was  still  true.  You  wrong  him  in  your 
hot,  unreasoning  verdict.  He  is  a  good  man." 

"And  my  father  was — forgotten!"  in  his  sharp,  boyish 
way. 

"  Forgotten  !  My  God,  when  I  had  so  much  to  remember  ! 
You  are  too  young  to  understand  women's  hearts.  But  if  you 
mean  that  I  ought  to  have  loved  him  and  clung  to  him,  when 
he  barred  the  way  first  by  marrying  for  the  sake  of  a  fortune, 
you  mistake  the  pride  and  purity  of  my  soul.  For  I  am  better 
to-day  than  he.  I  have  deceived  no  one,  wronged  no  one, 


H2  With  Fate  against  Him. 

though  society  visits  such  faults  or  misfortunes  on  the  woman's 
head  rather  than  the  man's." 

He  rose  and  shuddered  with  such  force  that  the  vibrations  of 
air  swept  to  her  like  a  gust. 

"So,  that  was  my  father  I  And  what  has  happened  to  him 
since  ?" 

"Nothing  but  good  fortune  on  every  side.  He  came  of  a 
proud,  old  family,  and  married  back  into  it,  that  none  of 
the  broad  lands  might  be  alienated.  He  has  prospered,  held 
positions  of  trust  and  honor,  and  has  a  son  to  carry  down  his 
name.  I  suppose  he  is  happy." 

"And  you  believe  in  a  God  who  rewards  the  good  and  pun 
ishes  the  evil — after  all  that !" 

"I  believe  in  a  God  who  said,  'Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will 
repay. ' " 

He  smote  the  rough  trunk  of  the  tree  with  his  fist,  and  never 
felt  the  scratched  and  bruised  knuckles. 

"I  think  if  I  knew  who  the  man  was  I  should  murder 
him."  His  mother  shivered  at  the  passion  in  his  voice. 

"You  will  never  know  ;"  with  a  breathless  flutter,  as  if  he 
might  turn  and  wrest  the  secret  from  her. 

"Pernaps  it  is  as  well,"  laughing  bitterly.  "For  I  feel  like 
Ishmael  :  that  my  hand  is  against  every  man.  I  am  an 
outlaw." 

"No,  you  are  not  an  outlaw.  A  man  makes  himself  what 
he  will !  You  have  the  same  youth,  the  same  strength  and 
courage,  and  the  same  aims  you  had  this  morning.  To  the 
end  John  Hurst  will  be  your  father.  Will  you  throw  up  every 
thing  and  whine  weakly  when  you  have  only  to  do  as  you 
planned  before  ?" 

"But  it  seems  as  if  some  strength  had  gone  out  of  me;" 
roused  a  little  by  her  words  that  appeared  to  sting  him  dully. 

"Yes,  it  always  does  in  a  great  blow.  But  it  will  come 
back.  In  the  life  you  mean  to  lead  the  next  few  years,  they 
question  no  one  about  birth.  And  when  you  have  won  fame 


With  Fate  against  Him.  1 1 3 

and  position,  your  face  will  be  sufficient  passport  anywhere. 
If  a  man  makes  his  mark,  society  will  open  her  golden  door 
unhesitatingly.  It  is  women  who  suffer,  not  men." 

There  was  a  strange  bitterness  in  her  voice.  Instead  of  this 
sharp  philosophy,  she  would  rather  have  held  his  throbbing 
temples  to  her  bosom,  and  kissed  the  wavering,  burning  lips. 
She  guessed  from  the  father  what  the  dangers  to  the  son 
might  be. 

"  I  thought  you  did  not  want  me  to  go!"  with  an  almost 
querulous  unreasonableness. 

"If  you  could  have  been  content;  but  /know  you  never 
will  be,  here.  Do  you  think  it  cost  me  so  little  to  give  up  my 
child?  Why,  Victor,  it  has  been  a  going  up  to  the  wilder 
ness  to  be  tempted.  This  bare,  coarse,  common  life  looked 
horrible  without  you,  and  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world 
shining  afar  off.  I  was  ready  to  fall  down  and  worship  Satan, 
so  that  I  might  but  have  you.  But  I  knew  in  my  soul  that  the 
day  I  sheltered  myself  in  John  Hurst's  great  love  against  the 
world's  contumely,  I  gave  up  the  right  of  choice.  So  I 
have  had  my  fight  and  conquered ;  and  you  must  do  the 
same." 

He  reached  out  his  arms  and  took  her  to  his  heart.  She 
felt  the  great  bounds  of  passion  and  pain,  and  trembled  there 
in  his  strong  clasp. 

"Mother,  your  voice  is  like  the  ring  of  martial  music.  I 
never  knew  that  you  were  so  brave  !" 

The  pangs  had  ennobled  her — lifted  her  out  of  herself,  and 
the  narrow  round  that  had  trammelled  her.  She  had  a  large, 
clear  brain,  when  you  came  to  that,  and  a  sturdy  self-reliance. 

"Go  with  me,"  he  cried.  "Be  my  inspiration.  I  cannot 
fail  then." 

Her  heart  gave  a  great  leap.  And  yet,  was  it  not  rather  as 
a  comrade  than  as  a  mother  he  needed  her.  The  temptation 
in  any  light  was  one  of  exquisite  pain,  and  she  felt  the  fire  of 
ambition  running  through  her  veins  like  a  subtle,  forceful 


1 14  With  Fate  against  Him. 

flame.  In  the  old  days  she  had  dreamed  of  rousing  another 
soul  into  purer  and  higher  life ;  of  guiding  the  aims,  the 
intellect,  and  the  heart  into  harmonious  channels.  Instead, 
she  had  brought  ruin  upon  herself. 

"No,"  in  her  voice  of  pure,  clear  courage,  "my  duty  is 
with  him,  I  think  he  is  hardly  as  strong  this  spring  as 
heretofore.  So  I  must  stay.  But  change  is  better  for 
you. " 

"Yes,"  absently. 

"You  will  think  kindly  of  him  when  you  are  away.  Re 
member  that  he  did  what  he  thought  for  the  best.  He  had 
seen  another, — brilliant,  fascinating,  dangerous — a  mind  not 
able  to  concentrate  itself  strongly  upon  one  purpose  or  belief, 
scatter  anguish  broadcast;  and  he  wanted,  most  of  all,  to  have 
you  steadfast,  sincere,  true.  If  he  mistook  the  way,  as  I  think 
we  both  did,  his  motives  were  pure.  He  never  grudged  you 
anything ;  and  it  has  been  his  ceaseless  regret  that  he  knew 
not  how  to  win  your  love." 

"I  forgive  him  all.  God  alone  knows  how  hard  it  must 
have  been  to  see  me  in  the  place  his  children  might  have  filled. 
Yes,  I  understand  his  fear." 

"You  will  come  in, — it  is  growing  late." 

"  I  was  a  boor  and  a  brute  to  you  awhile  ago,  and  unjust  to 
him  ;  but  I  suffered  fearfully.  To  think  the  very  blood  of 
which  I  had  been  so  proud  in  its  unlikeness  to  his,  should 
have  that  stain  upon  it  1" 

He  felt  the  tremor  running  along  her  pulses,  and  his  heart 
smote  him. 

"  Not  through  any  sin  of  yours,"  he  cried  vehemently,  clasp 
ing  the  cold  hand  in  his.  "  How  could  you  tell  ?" 

"No,  I  could  not  tell.  It  was  my  misfortune  to  love  him, 
to  trust  him.  I  had  no  mother  to  help  me  with  clear  eyes 
and  wise  counsel.  My  father  was  old  and  in  delicate  health, 
and  he  had  never  been  keen  or  distrustful.  A  visionary  in 
many  things,  ready  to  believe  the  best  of  any  one  ;  courteous, 


With  Fate  against  Him.  1 1 5 

gentlemanly,  honorable  to  the  farthest  verge.     And  he  liked 
our  guest,"  with  a  little  faltering  over  the  term,    "so  well, 
He  and  John  Hurst  were  our  only  visitors." 
"You  knew  him,  then  ?"  and  Victor  started. 
"  He  was  our  neighbor  ;  a  grave,  quiet  man,  verging  on  to 
forty.     I  liked  him  as  one  might  an  elder  brother,  and  never 
imagined  the  truth.     The  other  was  young,  with  all  the  graces 
and  sweetness  of  those  golden  days,  a  man  to  win  a  girl's  fancy. 
But  when  he  first  spoke  I  was  incredulous,  and  made  him 
wait  to  be  certain  of  his  own  regard.    During  those  six  months 
of  probation,  I  learned  to  love  him  better ;    and  I  think  he 
loved  me.     We  planned  our  life  together ;  its  ambitions  and 
possibilities,  its  high,  pure  aims  that  were  to  unfold  like  some 
clear  spring  morning,  behind  whose  skies  of  perfect  blue  lay 
prophesy  of  blossom  and  ripening  fruit,  and  cool,  green  foli 
age.     I  knew  that  he  would  have  some  property.     His  grand 
father,    it  seems,   wished  him  to  marry  his  cousin,  and  thus 
unite  the  two  fortunes  ;  but  the  poor  old  man  was  hovering 
on  the  brink  of  the  grave.     He  was  going  home  one  time,  and 
persuaded  me  into  this  marriage,  that  he  might  have  the  more 
courage  to  confess  it  to  his  grandfather.     But  he  came  back 
with  the  secret  still  untold.     For  three  months  we  kept  it,  then 
he  was  again  recalled.     I  never  saw  him  afterward." 

"But  he  did  not  dare  disavow  the  whole  transaction ?"  And 
Victor's  voice  was  terrible  in  the  strength  of  his  passion. 

"  He  did.  Not  that  he  could  have  looked  into  my  face  and 
said  it.  I  begged,  and  prayed,  and  plead  for  an  interview.  If 
I  had  known  where  to  find  him,  I  must  have  gone  and  en 
forced  my  claim,  right  in  the  sight  of  God  at  all  events.  But  I 
did  not.  I  was  utterly  helpless.  He  had  taken  our  certificate 
in  the  beginning.  Then  I  strove  to  discover  the  minister  who 
married  us  ;  but  there  had  never  been  such  a  clergyman  settled 
in  the  small  town.  I  knew,  then,  that  fate  was  too  strong, 
and  that  the  whole  world  would  be  against'me." 

' '  My  poor,  poor  mother  1" 


1 16  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Victor  Hurst  kissed  the  soft  cheek,  throbbing  with  the  heat 
and  soreness  of  the  old  wound. 

' '  I  tell  you  this  because  I  do  not  want  you  to  misjudge 
me  in  the  years  to  come.  This  man  crowned  us  with  thorns 
and  led  us  through  a  Via  Doloroso,  while  he  took  the  bright 
ness,  the  ease,  and  the  gold.  And  the  other — " 

"John  Hurst.  Go  on.  It  is  right  that  I  should  know;" 
the  words  almost  strangling  under  his  breath. 

"  He  offered  his  great  love  that  had  kept  silent  until  then. 
He  urged  for  my  father's  sake,  for  my  own.  He  knew  how 
cruel  the  world  could  be  to  a  woman.  For  the  sake  of  my 
father  and — my  child,  I  consented.  Which  of  the  two  would 
have  been  the  better  birthright,  dear?"  turning  her  face  to  his 
through  all  the  darkness. 

"I  understand  you.  Yes,  I  suppose  it  was  best.  I  know, 
now,  why — I  can  see  the  fears  he  had  for  me.  It  was  very 
noble  and  heroic  in  him,  and  when  I  am  away  I  shall  forget 
the  petty  jarring,  and  remember  him  as  rarely  generous,  thus 
to  put  another  man's  child  in  the  place  of  his  own." 

They  turned  and  walked  together  toward  the  house. 

"Let  it  all  go  on  as  before,"  she  said,  pleadingly.  "It 
would  break  his  heart  to  know  he  had  betrayed  the  secret  kept 
sacredly  so  many  years.  And  it  is  only  for  a  few  days.  I 
have  a  presentiment  that  you  will  never  see  him  again." 

Victor  stooped  and  kissed  his  mother  in  the  doorway.  The 
flame  of  the  candle,  burned  down  to  its  socket,  flared  across 
the  hall  with  a  dull  reddish  tinge.  He  saw  a  strange  new 
light  in  her  face,  as  if  it  had  suddenly  burst  its  olden  tram 
mels  of  conventionalism.  There  was  a  nervous  strength  in  the 
broad  white  forehead,  in  the  heats  coming  and  going,  as  if 
they  travelled  with  her  thoughts  ;  the  dusky  eyes  burning  with 
steady,  luminous  lights,  and  the  lips  set  firmly,  brilliant  as  if 
the  rose  and  scarlet  of  her  youth  had  come  back  again.  The 
slow  restraint  that  had  grown  year  by  year  into  a  mould  of 
impassiveness  had  been  shattered  by  some  far  inward  force, 


With  Fate  against  Him.  117 

and  she  seemed  to  stand  there  enfranchised  from  the  life  with 
which  he  had  always  connected  her,  strong  and  beautiful  in 
his  sight. 

"Mother!    Mother!"  and  the  tone  was  like  a   sad   wail, 
piercing  her  very  soul,    "how  can  I  give  you  up?     For  you 
seem  to  belong  to  me  with  a  finer  bond  than  there  is  between' 
most  mothers  and  sons." 

For  to-night  all  the  strength  and  sweetness  and  power  rose 
and  asserted  itself,  and  surprised  her  as  well.  She  had  broken 
through  the  smooth  platitudes  of  every-day  life  and  raised  the 
old  spirit  of  herself  out  of  that  haunting,  buried  past.  And 
still  her  soul  was  torn  asunder,  though  God  only  saw  the 
strife. 

"  Yes,  I  belong  to  you,"  proud  that  he  at  last  had  under 
stood  and  acknowledged  her  claim.  "But  when  I  took  this 
good  man's  name  wherewith  to  shadow  myself  and  you,  I 
also  took  another  duty." 

"  Yes,"  weakly ;  clinging  to  her  fingers  as  if  loth  ever  to 
part  again.  "Yes.  Yet  sometime — " 

"  When  I  am  free,  if  you  want  me  I  will  come.  I  shall  be 
an  old  woman  then." 

"  But  my  mother,  always." 

She  drew  him  to  her  and  kissed  the  throbbing  temples.  It 
seemed  as  if  all  the  years  of  patient  agony  were  repaid  now. 
The  secret  for  which  she  would  have  died  sooner  than  tell 
him,  had  brought  him  back  instead  of  estranging  him. 


CHAPTER  X. 

IT  was  past  midnight  when  they  separated.  Alone  in  his  own 
room,  Victor  Hurst  felt  as  if  a  decade  of  years  had  passed 
over  him  with"  the  force  of  a  fiery  wirlwind.  The  boyhood  of 
yesterday,  with  its  foolish  pride,  its  crude,  unreasoning  passions, 
had  been  almost  swept  out  of  sight.  A  strong,  sad  man, 
who  was  henceforth  to  live  a  little  in  the  shadow, — who,  when 
he  had  carved  his  own  way  and  brought  himself  up  to  any 
new  height,  would  not  be  quite  as  other  men. 

Then  he  thought  of  the  night  at  Bohmerwald,  of  Sylvia 
Redmond.  Not  that  there  had  been  any  wild  dreams  concern 
ing  her,  but  he  knew  now  that  the  dewy  scarlet  lips  had 
banned  him  out  of  her  world  as  effectually  as  if  he  had  been 
guilty  of  some  crime.  Even  his  ambition  lay  at  his  feet  like 
a  dead  corse.  Would  there  be  any  voice  of  resurrection  for 
it,  any  morning  when  the  stone  should  be  rolled  away  ? 

To  Paul  Latour  it  would  make  but  little  difference.  Not 
that  he  meant  the  secret  should  ever  pass  his  lips.  He  had 
the  honor  of  another  in  jj^  keeping  now.  Yet  he  felt  wronged 
and  outraged  by  the  worlds  arbitrary  law.  If  he  could  find 
the  man  who  had  worked  them  this  evil — and  his  fingers 
clinched  nervously,  with  a  grip  in  them  that  would  not  be 
good  for  the  throat  of  him  who  had  lied  to  both  God  and  a 
woman. 

But  there  was  no  reason  now  why  he  should  stay,  and  every 
consideration  in  favor  of  his  going.  John  Hurst  would  have 
been  more  than  human  if  he  had  loved  this  boy  as  one  of  his 
own.  Victor  could  see  the  many  struggles  now,  the  effort  the 
old  man  had  made  to  train  him  in  habits  of  rigid  truth,  honor 


With  Fate  against  Him.  1 19 

and  industry,  as  he  understood  them.    No  dangerous  romance 
or  idle  philosophy  was  to  be  allowed  a  foothold. 

Pshaw  !  Was  he  a  bit  of  iron  ore  to  be  dug  out  of  the  ground, 
melted,  refined,  hammered,  and  shaped  into  some  useful  but 
lifeless  thing,  or  a  stone  dug  out  of  yonder  quarry  to  be 
chiselled  smooth  and  put  into  its  place  ?  Had  he  no  right  to  try 
the  world  for  himself,  to  have  his  own  beliefs  and  aims,  until 
manhood  crowned  him  by  the  virtue  of  his  twenty-one  years  ? 

He  walked  to  the  open  window  that  the  cool  wind  might 
chase  away  the  fever-heat  of  his  blood.  Throwing  his  tawny 
hair  aside,  still  damp  with  dews  of  the  grass,  where  he  had 
held  his  tearless  vigil,  his  throbbing  brow  took  the  clean,  sweet 
spring  gust,  with  its  undertone  of  rain.  The  night  was  very 
dark  now,  and  solemn  in  its  silence.  A  time  to  cry  unto  God 
for  help  ;  but  was  God  at  hand,  and  did  He  take  note  of  these 
paltry  daily  events  ? 

He  was  in  no  mood  to  sleep.  All  the  discordant  elements 
of  existence  were  roused  ;  the  subtle,  far-reaching  forces, — the 
mysterious  depths  in  which  lurked  crude  hopes,  passions,  and 
affections,  looming  up  with  the  indistinctness  of  uncalled 
phantoms,  which  were  to  develop  the  soul  for  which  they  were 
sent  to  act,  according  to  their  strength  and  power,  into  that 
nobility  which  should  do  honor  to  its  Maker,  or  to  swell  the 
list  of  wretched,  unfaithful  beings,  who  allow  themselves  to 
drift  beyond  refuge,  doubting  their  own  power  to  escape  from 
the  influences  dragging  them  down,  ^nd  God's  mercy  held  out 
to  the  last. 

There  came  a  soft  rush  of  rain  from  the  distant  hills,  with 
the  damp,  fragrant  odor  of  young  grass,  and  the  pungent 
aroma  of  the  pines.  How  tender  all  the  great  hushed  world 
seemed  !  Six  months  hence  he  might  be  lying  under  other 
skies,  and  have  the  drowsy  lap  of  waves  floating  through  his 
brain.  But  he  should  never  forget  this  hour. 

"Victor!" 

He  heard  the  step  and  the  voice  at  the  same  instant.    Open- 


1 20  With  Fate  against  Him. 

ing  the  door  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  his  mother,  for  the 
light  had  long  since  flickered  its  last 

"  Will  you  come  to  him?'  Her  voice  held  in  it  the  breath 
less  awe  of  great  pain  and  terror.  "For — I  think  he  is 
dying. " 

Victor  took  one  step  into  the  hall 

"You  have  not  been  in  bed?"  grasping  his  hand  with  her 
cold,  trembling  fingers. 

"No." 

"It  is  near  morning.  Nearly  four  when  I  looked  at  his 
watch.  And  you  have  been  thinking  all  this  time  ?" 

"I  was  not  sleepy,"  in  a  brief  tone,  as  if  he  would  rather 
shut  himself  out  of  her  thoughts. 

A  candle  was  burning  on  the  table  at  the  bed's  head, 
and  shed  a  ghastly  glare  over  the  pallid  face  with  its  half-open 
eyes,  and  parted,  colorless  lips,  that  looked  almost  as  if  the 
under-jaw  had  fallen.  A  strange,  hard  breathing,  with  an  awe 
some  rattle  in  the  sound. 

"  How  long  have  you  noticed  this?" 

"'A  little  while;  five  minutes,  perhaps.  He  Was  sleeping 
heavily  when  I  came  in,  and  has  scarcely  stirred." 

She  looked  at  her  son  with  eager,  questioning  eyes,  but  her 
own  face  was  deathly  pale. 

Victor  tried  to  rouse  him.  When  he  raised  the  wasted  frame 
the  respiration  became  more  labored  ;  but  there  was  little  sign 
of  consciousness.  The  features  were  gray  and  rigid. 

"  Have  you  tried  any — restoratives?" 

There  was  nothing  at  hand  but  the  old-fashioned,  clean, 
smelling  camphor.  Victor  bathed  his  face  with  this,  and  chafed 
the  apparently  pulseless  wrists. 

Moment  after  moment,  and  yet  there  was  no  change — no 
sign  either  of  life  or  speedy  dissolution. 

"We  can  do  nothing.  I  know  so  little  of  sickness,"  with  a 
wan  half-smile.  "Shall  I  call  in  a  neighbor  while  I  go  for 
the  nearest  doctor  ?" 


With  Fate  against  Him  121 

"No,  I  will  stay  alone.  But  you  had  better  go  immedi 
ately." 

She  was  thinking  how  many  times  John  Hurst  had  been 
roused  from  his  bed  to  minister  to  the  sick  and  dying.  How 
he  had  gone  uncomplainingly  out  into  cold,  and  storm,  and 
darkness,  to  some  poor  wretch  stupefied  with  vile  liquor,  and 
shivering  over  a  forlorn  handful  of  fire.  He  had  done  the 
rough,  hard  work,  while  his  brethren  slept  at  their  eafise. 

There  was  no  change  in  him  during  her  watch.  It  might 
have  been  ten  minutes  or  an  hour,  for  she  let  the  moments  go 
by  uncounted.  When  she  heard  the  footsteps  on  the  path 
below,  she  lighted  a  fresh  candle  and  went  out  into  the  hall. 
Doctor  Willard,  looking  boyishly  small  beside  Victor's  towering 
figure. 

"Mrs.  Hurst,"  and  he  gave  his  hand  with  something  beyond 
professional  formality,  ' '  I  don't  wonder.  I  told  him,  only 
yesterday,  that  he  was  wearing  himself  out  fast.  But,  said  he, 
in  his  solemn  way,  'Better  rub  out  than  rust  out'  Yet  I 
believe  every  man  has  a  right  to  his  own  life  !" 

They  entered  the  small  room,  clean  and  comfortable,  but 
with  no  attempt  at  ornamentation.  A  grave  expression  came  over 
the  doctor's  round,  plump,  little  face,  and  he  bit  his  thin  lips 
under  cover  of  the  bristling,  gray  moustache,  as  he  felt  the 
limp,  nerveless  wrist 

He  began  by  first  inquiring  minutely  into  the  symptoms  that 
had  preceded  the  attack,  which,  to  his  keen  eye,  was  declared 
paralysis. 

"  Worn  out !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  slow  shake  of  the  head. 
"When  will  men  learn  that  there  is  a  slow  suicide,  as  culpable, 
I  hold  it,  as  the  more  speedy  poison.  A  good  man,  rabid  on 
the  one  subject — his  duty — as  if  God  required  the  impossible  1 
But  we  must  get  to  work." 

The  gray  dawn  came  slowly  up  in  the  wet,  heavy  sky,  chill 
ing  the  air  as  the  night  had  not  done,  and  the  east  wind  was 
raw.  The  three  thought  little  of  it.  Their  fire  blazed  within, 

6 


122  With  Fate  against  Him. 

and  their  hands  were  busy,  if  their  hearts  beat  dully  with  a 
vague,  nameless  pain. 

"It  is  too  late  for  much  help,"  the  Doctor  said,  in  his  low, 
measured  tone.  "He  may  lie  this  way  for  several  days,  for 
he  has  a  little  of  the  old  iron  in  his  constitution.  The  proba 
bilities  are,  however,  that  he  will  rally  somewhat,  and  live  eight 
or  ten  days,  perhaps." 

The  verdict  scarcely  surprised  them,  and  yet  each  heard  it 
with  a  heavy  heart.  In  how  much  had  they  been  answerable 
for  the  result? 

"Would  any  perplexity  have  brought  it  to  a  crisis?"  Anah 
Hurst  asked,  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

"Perplexity!  Well,  he  had  enough  of  it,  I  suppose,  with 
those  poor  wretches  down  yonder.  I  noticed  the  gray  look  in 
his  face  yester-morn,  and  the  sunken  eyes  ;  and  while  I  think, 
now,  his  voice  had  a  sharp,  shaky  sound.  It's  been  coming 
on  some  time,  I  should  judge." 

She  drew  a  quick,  gasping  breath.  She  wanted  to  clear 
herself  and  her  son  from  any  complicity. 

"  He  was  talking  awhile  last  evening  rather  excitedly,  but 
he  ate  some  supper  afterward.  He  has  failed  a  good  deal 
latterly." 

"No,  I  don't  believe  the  talk  hurt  him."  What  could  it 
have  been  but  the  salvation  of  souls,  on  which  subject  the 
Doctor  thought  him  a  little  cracked.  ' '  It's  been  coming  on 
some  time ;  any  man  with  half  an  eye  can  see  that. " 

She  drew  a  long,  relieved  breath,  and  glanced  furtively  at 
Victor. 

"I'd  get  him  down  stairs,  if  I  could.  There'll  likely  be 
one  and  another  in  to  see  him." 

"Yes  ;"  in  an  absent  way. 

He  went  over  to  Mrs.  Hurst,  and  took  her  hand. 

"He  has  been  a  good  man — a  little  queer  in  his  ways  to 
my  thinking,  but  patient,  self-denying,  always  ready  to  minis 
ter  to  others ;  and  if  there's  any  seventh  heaven — I'm  sure  I've 


With  Fate  against  Him.  123 

heard  it  mentioned — he  deserves  it,  although  he  would  be  the 
first  to  take  the  lowest  seat  in  the  synagogue.  And  so  you 
needn't  fear  but  that  he  will  have  his  reward.  '  Your  loss  will 
be  his  gain,'  though  I'm  not  much  of  a  hand  at  quoting  Scrip 
ture.  And  if  we  doctors  could  save  everybody,  it  would  set 
the  good  book  sadly  at  naught." 

"  I  know  ;  yes  !  I  know  ;"  bowing  her  head. 

"You  have  your  son  to  comfort  you." 

The  Doctor  had  gone  so  far  out  of  his  usual  province  that 
he  had  to  clear  his  voice  several  times. 

"I'll  drop  in  again  at  noon.  John  Hurst  never  neglected  a 
fellow-creature,  and  he  shall  not  suffer  for  any  attention. 
Good  day!  Good  day  !"  .bustling  out  with  more  ceremony 
than  usual. 

"They  know  it  now,"  he  muttered  to  himself;  "but  she'll 
take  it  hard,  for  all  she  looks  so  quiet.  What  a  fine  fellow 
that  young  Hurst  is  :  don't  take  much  after  his  father.  When 
will  people  learn  that  they  can't  set  the  laws  of  health  and  com 
mon  sense  at  defiance,  even  in  the  cause  of  religion  ?  Dan'el 
went  in  the  den  of  lions,  to  be  sure ;  but  for  people  to  be 
going  into  dens  of  beasts  and  brutes  in  human  shape,  with  all 
their  filth  and  rum,  and  stench  enough  to  kill  you,  when 
they're  not  forced  to  !  Well,  it  may  be  religion  ;  but  it's  death 
all  the  same.  Early  and  late.  No  rest,  no  let  up  of  any  kind. 
Taking  his  life  in  his  hand,  and  now  it's  worn  to  the  last  slen 
der  strand.  Goodness  me,  how  it  does  rain  !  and  I  without  an 
umbrella  !" 

The  Doctor  blew  his  nose  hard  and  trudged  onward,  his 
brain  in  a  strange  muddle.  Did  God  require  just  what  this 
man  had  been  doing  ?  There  were  plenty  of  others  not  half 
so  hard  worked,  with  a  good  deal  better  pay.  But  then  it  was 
a  queer  world. 

Victor  Hurst  watched  him  down  the  street  with  a  dull,  un 
defined  pain  at  his  heart,  not  altogether  for  himself.  Only — • 
it  seemed  sad  that  any  human  life  should  have  in  it  so  much 


124  With  Fate  against  Him. 

labor  and  care,  so  little — what,  pleasure  ?  He  was  not  looking 
for  his  reward  here.  And  in  the  early  days  it  had  been  dif 
ferent.  Somehow  he  wanted  to  feel  that  there  had  been  a 
little  brightness  in  the  life  ebbing  out  to  the  chill  ocean. 
Death  at  hand  is  such  a  horribly  real  thing  to  youth. 

His  mother  came  near  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"  You  heard  ?"  she  said,  in  a  kind  of  wandering  tone. 

"Yes..  It  was  not  the  talk  last  night.  If  he  had  loved 
me — "  his  dry  lips  quivering. 

' '  He  did  love  you.  Can  you  never  understand  how  it  was  ?" 
"with  a  little  impatience. 

"For  your  sake  only.  We  were,  too  unlike.  Let  it  all  go. 
I  shall  be  a  son  to  him  as  long  as  he  lives." 

"It  is  best  not  in  any  event  to  let  him  know." 

"It  is  best." 

' '  She  kindled  the  fire,  while  Victor  went  up  stairs  again. 
Standing  there,  he  studied  the  gray,  rigid  face,  wishing  from 
the  depths  of  his  soul  that  it  had  all  been  different,  that  he  had 
been  this  man's  child.  For  the  strength  and  power  and  passion 
he  found  in  his  blood  startled  him. 

"No,  he  could  not  have  cared,"  he  murmured.  "It  is  not 
in  human  nature.  I  stood  between,  as  it  were,  and  divided 
the  heart  of  the  woman  he  loved.  But,  my  God  !  is  my  prayer 
answered  sharply  as  that  ?" 

For  only  last  night  he  had  longed  to  have  his  mother  to 
himself,  and  would  have  crowded  out  this  feeble  old  man,  with 
his  years  of  devotion. 

After  their  quiet  breakfast,  when  each  only  made  a  pretence 
of  eating,  she  began  to  plan  for  the  change  that  must  be 
effected.  Off  this  room  was  another  and  a  larger  one,  a  very 
plain  parlor  where  prayer-meetings  were  held,  the  few  mar 
riages  that  strayed  to  him  solemnized,  and  penitents  examined 
or  comforted.  One  by  one  the  ornaments  had  disappeared — 
bright,  pretty,  little  things,  which  have  so  much  home  expression 


With  Fate  against  Him.  126 

in  them  for  women.  But  when  she  saw  that  they  distressed 
her  husband,  she  removed  them  out  of  sight,  bravely  cutting 
off  her  right  hand  that  it  might  not  offend  another. 

A  matting,  rather  worn,  covered  the  floor ;  the  chairs  were 
old  fashioned,  cane  seated;  the  centre-table,  an  ancient  mahog 
any,  handed  down  from  her  mother  ;  a  few  religious  pictures  ; 
a  plain  set  of  shelves  for  books,  and  perhaps  the  nearest 
approach  to  ornament  was  a  pair  of  pale  green-glass  candle 
sticks — her  silver  ones  had  gone  to  feed  the  poor  long  ago. 

"  You  will  not  go  to  the  shop  this  morning?  The  bed  must 
be  brought  here — it  will  be  more  convenient." 

"Yes;"  stripping  off  his  coat  that  he  had  put  on 
mechanically.  "It  had  better  be  mine.  We  can  arrange  it 
all  first,  you  know." 

She  bowed  acquiescently,  and  they  went  to  work.  How 
strong  he  was  with  those  smooth,  supple  limbs.  She  watched 
him  with  a  peculiar  pride. 

In  an  hour  the  room  was  ready  for  its  occupant. 

"I  will  bring  him  down,"  he  said. 

' '  But  you  cannot — alone. " 

He  smiled  gravely,  but  turned  and  went  up  the  stairs 
again. 

If  it  had  been  a  heavier  burden  he  would  still  have  desired 
to  bear  it.  There  was  coming  into  his  mind  a  sense  of  ten 
der,  sacred  appropriation.  This  man  had  carried  him  about 
in  his  arms,  a  helpless  baby,  and  he  should  owe  no  kindness 
to  a  stranger  that  he  could  perform  for  him. 

There  was  no  change  that  morning.  The  storm  meanwhile 
had  subsided  into  a  slow  drizzle.  Doctor  Willard  looked  in 
again  at  noon. 

"I'll  come  and  stay  to-night,"  he  said.  "I  have  no  im 
portant  cases  on  hand."  For  he  saw  something  in  the  tense 
lines  that  seemed  to  indicate  a  crisis. 

To  both  Anah  and  her  son  the  day  was  intolerably  long, 
broken  late  in  the  afternoon  by  a  few  calls.  It  is  so  hard  to 


126  With  Fate  against  Him. 

sit  by  in  utter  helplessness  and  see  any  human,  life  drifting 
out,  without  reaching  forth  a  hand  to  stem  the  current.  But 
Dr.  Willard,  in  his  shrewd,  practical  way,  would  not  have  the 
old  man  tortured  for  so  vague  and  slight  a  chance. 

All  the  change  that  was  to  come  for  many  days  occurred 
that  evening.  John  Hurst  opened  his  eyes,  began  to  breathe 
more  naturally,  took  a  little  nourishment ;  but  lay  there  like  a 
log,  unable  to  stir  hand  or  foot 

"There's  a  good  deal  of  grit  in  him  yet,"  said  the  Doctor, 
grimly.  "  No  one  can  tell  how  it  will  end." 

The  next  day  Victor  Hurst  went  back  to  his  old  employ 
ment.  Friday,  Saturday,  and  then  a  blessed  Sabbath-day  of 
rest.  A  bright,  genial  May  sky,  with  showers  of  apple-blossoms 
in  the  air,  and  wafts  of  sweetness. 

There  was  a  crowd  in  the  little  cottage  all  day  long,  for  the 
news  had  only  been  recently  noised  about.  And  watching  the 
faces,  Victor  felt  that  he  had  misjudged  his  father's  work.  Slow- 
brained  and  stolid,  their  dull  eyes  peering  from  under  the 
ledge  of  receding  brows  ;  coarse,  heavy  jaws ;  hesitating  and 
awkward  in  speech,  until  roused  by  the  very  excess  of  emotion, 
to  them  the  figure  lying  there,  so  gray  and  wan,  motionless 
as  if  already  dead,  had  but  one  meaning.  Some  of  the 
women  began  to  sob  hysterically. 

"  He  come  to  me  one  day  last  winter,  "when  we  were  freezin' 
and  starvin',  my  man  helpless  in  the  bed,  and  not  so  much  as 
a  sup  o'  tea  to  wet  his  lips  with.  I'll  never  forget  it,  never ! 
He  run  out  again  and  brought  us  some  food,  and  took  the 
poor  babby  in  his  own  arms  and  give  it  a  drink  of  milk,  and 
made  up  a  fire.  And  poor  Rob  went  safe  at  the  last — I  never 
heerd  such  prayers,  never  !  I'm  sure  heaven  must  be  for  the 
likes  of  him." 

"An' I  shan't  forget  when  poor  Mary  died,"  confessed  an 
nncouth  fellow  outside  the  door,  brushing  his  rough  sleeve 
across  his  eyes.  "In  the  old  country  she'd  had  the  priest,  but 
I  wouldn't  hear  to  it  when  she  married  me.  We'd  gone  from 


With  Fate  against  Him.  127 

bad  to  worse,  along  o'  the  vile  stuff  she  was  allers  beggin'  me 
not  to  drink  ;  but  she  never  took  to  no  one  till  she  saw  him  in 
the  chapel,  an'  he  come  and  prayed  with  her.  An'  I  promised 
him,  on  her  death-bed,  that  I'd  never  touch  another  drop;  and 
God  knows  I've  kept  my  word.  He'd  come  across  the  street 
to  shake  hands  wi'  the  likes  of  me,  and  allers  wi'  a  kindly — 
'  Dennis,  how  are  you?'  He  never  stood  off  on  t'other  side." 

And  there  was  the  table  loaded  with  mugs  and  bowls  of 
broth,  glasses  of  jelly,  a  slice  of  freshly-roasted  beef,  or  a 
tender  bit  of  steak.  Whatever  they  had — out  of  their  poverty 
and  with  much  toil  and  anxiety — they  prepared  their  best  for 
him  who  had  given  so  freely  to  them. 

Not  only  tracts  and  sermons  and  prayers,  it  seemed.  Not 
mere  exhortations  or  denunciations.  This  was  why  he  had 
pinched  his  own  life,  that  he  might  have  a  little  out  of  his 
pittance  for  them.  For  their  perishing  souls  he  had  yearned 
in  prayer  through  weary  midnights. 

Coarse  and  illiterate  as  they  were,  they  preached  an  eloquent 
sermon  to  Victor  Hurst.  No  deprivation  or  poverty  could  ever 
have  brought  him  to  their  level ;  for  his  instincts  were  those  of 
a  gentleman,  come  from  whom  they  might.  But  something  in 
the  rude,  tender  gratitude  touched  him  deeply.  Was  there 
more  in  religion  than  he  had  cared  to  believe  of  late?  And 
did  John  Hurst,  making  the  creed  a  little  too  strait  at  times, 
still  have  hold  of  the  great  everlasting  truths  ?  Ah,  what  else 
could  have  so  moved  these  grovelling  souls  ? 

Two  more  days  passed.  There  had  been  a  slight  amend 
ment,  if  it  could  so  be  called,  and  with  it  had  come  the  appe 
tite  of  a  famishing  man.  Anah  fed  him  like  a  child,  and  he 
turned  his  slow-moving  eyes  upon  her  with  the  vacant  stare  of 
one  long  asleep,  and  who  opens  his  eyes  on  strange  sights. 

"To-morrow,"  she  said,  coming  to  sit  by  her  son  at  the 
open  window,  where  a  young  moon  began  to  climb  the  wide 
sky.  . 

' '  To-morrow, "  he  echoed  slowly. 


128  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"And  you  have  been  counting  on  it  so  much  for — almost  a 
year?" 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  with  a  peculiar  smile.  "One  August 
day  the  flames  burst  out  into  an  open  blaze.  I  have  never  been 
the  same  since.  But — perhaps,  we  all  change.  There  must 
be  some  inward  growth." 

1 '  And  to-morrow  you  were — you  will  be  free. " 

' '  Yes.  In  one  way  I  am  glad  to  have  the  chain  lifted.  It 
is  good  to  be  a  free  man,  bound  by  no  promises  save  your 
own." 

"And  your  friend  Paul — ?" 

"He  has  gone  down  to  the  Bohemian  settlement;  he  has 
some  old  friends  there." 

Her  fingers  began  to  work  nervously,  and  a  fluttering  pale 
ness  played  around  the  lips  that  seemed  to  sink  now  and  then, 
as  if  an  undertow  of  fear  drew  them  in  toward  her  soul. 

"Victor,"  with  a  quaver  in  her  voice,  "I  ought  to  tell  you; 
the  doctor  said  to-day — " 

He  caught  the  fingers  in  his,  cold  and  trembling  as  they  were, 
with  a  sick,  inward  fear. 

"He  said  that — father,"  stumbling  a  little  over  the  old 
name,  "might  last  a  long  while.  Cases  are  not  uncommon 
where  one  helpless  as  he  is,  has  recovered  partially.  It  may 
be  years — " 

"Well  ?"  breaking  her  long  pause. 

"I  wanted  to  say — that  since  your  plans  are  all  made,  I  be 
lieve  that  I  can  get  along.  There  is  considerable  of  the  salary 
unpaid,  and  friends  have  been  very  kind." 

"  You  don't  think  thai  of  me  ?"  His  voice  rising  to  a  strained, 
hurt  pitch.  "  You  don't  think  that  I  would  go  away  and  leave 
you  alone  with  him,  dependent  upon  charity  ?  Oh,  mother  1 
mother  !  This  is  a  bitter  punishment." 

"No,  I  did  not ;"  kissing  her  whole  trust  into  the  throbbing, 
fevered  lips.  "  But  I  wanted  you  to  feel  quite  free.  My  duty 
does  not  include  yours,"  with  a  sad  flutter  of  a  smile. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  129 

"No.  My  duty  is  distinct.  The  man  who  cared  for  me  in 
my  helpless  childhood,  deserves  a  return  in  his  adversity.  I 
have  been  proud,  cold,  selfish  ;  wrapped  in  dreams  of  my  own 
advancement,  and  tempted  of  the  devil  in  a  manner  that  you 
could  hardly  understand.  But  my  post  is  here  until  he  dies ;" 
clearing  his  throat.  "I'll  have  all  this  foul,  black  ingratitude 
out  of  my  veins  !" 

She  saw,  then,  with  a  nameless  terror  of  relief,  that  he  ac 
cepted  the  position.  She  remembered  a  time  when  she  had 
been  ambitious  to  bring  herself  up  to  a  pure  and  lofty  standard, 
to  cast  off  any  habit  that  might  seem  to  the  man  she  loved  like 
some  faint  profanation  of  vulgarity,  or  the  touch  of  a  poverty 
that  might  leave  its  mark  ;  yet  he,  with  his  high-born,  delicate 
impulses,  with  his  proud  descent  which  was  like  a  king's  lineage 
to  him,  the  chivalric  notions  nurtured  amid  luxury  and  refine 
ment,  and  all  the  higher  appliances  of  beauty,  art,  literature, 
and  wealth,  had  not  scrupled  to  forswear  himself  when  the  time 
of  temptation  came.  For  how  much  would  an  old  name  and 
pure  blood  count  ?  Did  not  God  have  another  code  by  which 
to  test  men  ? 

"But  if  there  should  come  a  time,  when  in  the  depths  of 
your  pain  you  should  turn  and  hate  me  ?"  she  cried  with  all  the 
anguish  of  fear,  hesitating  to  accept  his  sacrifice. 

"That  will  never  be.     No,  I  am  not  such  a  brute  as  that." 

"But  if  you  had  never  known?  After  bearing  the  burden 
until  my  shoulders  had  become  accustomed  to  it,  why  should 
God  let  it  fall  upon  another,  escaping  from  weak,  irresponsi 
ble  lips  ?" 

"Your  churchmen  would  say — to  humble  my  pride  ;"  with 
boyish  bitterness.  "  But  why  has  God  let  you  suffer  all  these 
years,  when  you  have  been  serving  Him  ?  Why  should  He  let 
this  man  blight  your  innocent  girlhood,  and  be  prosperous  and 
happy  ?  Does  He  have  anything  to  do  with  it  ?"  almost  fiercely. 
"  There  is  a  mystery  about  it  that  I  am  slow  to  understand." 

She  took  his  hand  in  hers,  caressing  it  in  her  tender,  silent 

6* 


130  With  Fate  against  Him. 

way,  but  her  lips  were  dry  and  dumb.  Ah,  if  she  could  have 
blotted  it  out ;  or,  if  he  could  have  gone  before  this  sad  event 
had  befallen  her. 

For  she  fancied  that  she  would  have  been  stronger  alone, 
and  that  he,  not  knowing  the  secret,  might  have  struggled  up 
to  bolder  heights. 

They  had  yet  to  learn  the  tragical  contests  that  are  going  on 
continually  between  the  strongest,  and  perhaps  the  highest 
impulses  of  the  soul ;  and  the  chain  of  trivial  circumstances 
that  drifts  it  so  far  from  the  shore  where  it  had  meant  to  make 
a  haven,  tosses  it  about  like  some  useless  weed,  and  not  seldom 
wearies  out  its  struggles  after  a  more  satisfying  existence.  Every 
day  some  soul  is  wrecked,  and  casual  observers  glancing  only  at 
the  placid  current,  wonder  why. 

Oh,  God  !  Was  there  any  hand  stretched  out  to  save  them  in 
the  depths  of  their  despair  ? 


CHAPTER  XI. 

BACK  to  the  old  life.  Mr.  Norcross  had  only  smiled  a  little 
when  the  young  man  reconsidered  his  determination,  believing 
it  the  result  of  his  own  sensible  advice.  Victor  might  have 
nursed  his  pride  and  gone  elsewhere,  there  were  other  shops 
open  to  him  ;  but  his  great  wound  had  penetrated  so  deeply 
that  these  lesser  thorns  scarcely  pricked  him. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  sympathy  expressed  for  Mr.  Hurst. 
His  brethren  in  the  ministry  paid  Mrs.  Hurst  calls  of  condol 
ence,  and  sighed  over  the  helpless  body  of  their  co-laborer.  It 
was  one  of  the  mysterious  providences  of  God,  whose  ways 
were  past  finding  out,  and  she  was  exhorted  to  faith,  patience, 
and  grace. 

Every  one  hoped  that  it  would  be  the  means  of  bringing  the 
young  man  to  a  sense  of  duty ;  a  return  to  the  fold.  Surely 
this  was  a  call  which  he  would  hardly  refuse  to  heed. 

He  had  his  own  struggles  and  inward  monitions.  A  wild, 
eager  grasping  for  the  material  light  above  him,  that  lured  him 
on  with  so  beguiling  a  ray,  and  yet  evaded  his  outstretched 
hands.  He  meant  to  get  out  of  this  hard,  narrow  groove  of 
poverty,  since  he  was  able  to  help  himself,  and  institute  a  new 
order  of  things  at  home.  He  understood  his  own  life  better 
than  these  men  who  prated  of  lessons  and  warnings. 

John  Hurst  improved  slowly — if  it  could  be  called  that. 
The  heavy  eyelids  gained  strength  for  a  meaningless,  unwink 
ing  stare,  and  the  thin  lips  would  occasionally  move  in  unin 
telligible  mutterings ;  breathing  and  eating  went  on  with  the 
monotony  of  a  machine,  the  only  links  between  him  and  the 
sentient,  blossoming  world  without.  Sometimes,  in  her  dis- 


132  With  Fate  against  Him. 

tressful  watching,  Anah  would  fancy  the  distortion  of  the  lips 
a  smile,  and  the  hard  stare  a  look  of  recognition,  as  if  the  poor 
soul  had  been  stirred  by  some  gleam  of  intelligence  common 
to  humanity. 

She  took  up  her  cross  meekly,  thinking  that  she  could  see 
in  it  a  righteous  retribution  for  the  past  years'  discontent  and 
lack  of  faith  in  God.  For  although  we  may  believe  in  a 
system  of  rewards  and  punishments  hereafter,  it  is  so  natural 
to  apply  them  to  this  narrow  existence  as  well.  All  her  life 
had  been  one  of  reparation.  For  what  ?  Because  in  the 
innocency  of  her  girlhood,  she  had  believed  in  the  man  who 
was  a  prince  and  a  hero  to  her,  had  trusted  him  with  the 
law,  not  made  alike  for  all  men  as  she  had  learned. 

There  was  little  cordiality  between  Victor  and  his  fellow- 
workmen.  Baxter  had  gravely  counseled  him  in  the  begin 
ning. 

' '  You're  going  the  wrong  way.  There's  no  use  in  a  man 
making  enemies  when  he  might  as  well  make  friends." 

"The  friendship  being  of  such  a  high  order  1"  with  a 
short,  bitter  laugh. 

"There's  as  good  men  here  as  you  are,  Hurst!  They 
don't  like  to  see  a  youngster  lording  it  over  them,  as  if  they 
weren't  fit  to  speak  to.  I've  known  the  men  in  a  shop  to 
strike  when  one  hand  became  obnoxious." 

"I  don't  interfere  with  them  or  ask  any  odds.  All  that 
Norcross  demands,  is  that  I  shall  do  my  work  well.  If  he 
chooses  to  put  a  beer-drinking  Englishman  on  the  next  forge, 
I  can  act  my  pleasure  as  to  whether  I'll  be  '  hail  fellow '  with 
him  or  not. " 

' '  They  are  more  than  half  your  own  countrymen,  when  it 
comes  to  that,"  exclaimed  Baxter  indignantly. 

"I  can  make  friends  or  not,  I  suppose,  as  I  like;"  swing 
ing  his  strong  arm  nearer  the  foreman,  in  a  manner  that 
would  have  been  insolent  if  it  had  not  been  indifferent. 

"You're  too  full  of  the  new-fashioned  quips  and  quirks, 


With  Fate  against  Him.  133 

Hurst,"  eyeing  him  with  a  shrewd  under-meaning.  "  The 
world  will  not  be  any  the  better  for  your  tinkering  at  it  and 
trying  to  change  things.  You  may  as  well  start  with  the  sup 
position  that  most  of  the  men  are  as  good,  and  honest,  and 
well  meaning  as  yourself,  if  they  do  drink  a  little  beer  or 
smoke  short  pipes." 

"  I  haven't  interfered  with  their  pipes  nor  their  rum.  Let 
them  drink,  and  smoke,  and  go  to  the  devil  by  the  road  which 
suits  them  best.  And  if  I  choose  to  take  some  other  road,  I've 
the  right." 

Baxter  studied  the  flushed  and  restless  face.  Curiously 
enough  there  was  something  about  the  young  fellow  that 
attracted  while  it  repelled.  Baxter,  like  most  other  men,  felt 
called  upon  to  preach  to  him.  We  turn  evangelists  easily 
when  some  one  strays  from  our  way  of  thinking. 

"  And  with  your  father's  life  before  you,  Hurst," — making 
a  doubtful  pause. 

' '  My  father's  life  ?  Well,  what  has  it  been  ?  A  great  sac 
rifice  at  first ;  for  I  do  believe  he  might  have  gained  a  com 
petency,  instead  of  starving  soul  and  brain  and  body  in  the 
forlorn  hope  of  the  redemption  of  the  world.  And  the  reward 
of  his  labor  bids  fair  to  be  a  helpless  old  age.  What  do 
these  people  care,  for  whom  he  labored?  They  came  and 
cried  over  him  at  first,  and  held  up  his  good  deeds.  How 
many  of  them  are  remembered  to-day  ?  No ;  when  you 
point  me  to  an  example,  let  it  be  a  different  one  from 
that." 

Baxter  was  silent.  He  knew  what  he  meant  in  his  soul,  but 
he  could  not  bring  it  to  the  right  shape  upon  his  lips. 

"Or,  perhaps  you  think  it  my  duty  to  become  a  parson?" 
with  his  scornful,  fiery  look. 

"I  think  you  are  taking  the  world  at  its  wrong  end,  Hurst ; 
and  that  you'll  have  to  fight  your  way  through,  just  as  a  man 
does  who  leaves  the  beaten  track  in  the  woods,  and  goes 
stumbling  through  bramble  and  underbrush,  when  he  might 


134  With  Fate  against  Him. 

have  had  a  clear  path  and  bits  of  sunshine.  And  for  a  man 
who  has  to  work — " 

"Well?"  raising  himself  to  his  full  height,  while  his  eyes 
flashed  out  steely  gleams. 

"  It's  not  well  for  him  to  quarrel  with  his  bread  and  butter." 

With  that  the  man  walked  away.  He  always  had  the  worst 
of  it  in  these  little  encounters  with  Hurst,  and  yet  he  held  to 
a  stubborn  belief  that  he  was  right.  He  accepted  the  facts 
cheerily,  that  Victor  kicked  against.  He  had  been  born  in 
such  a  groove  in  life,  given  a  plain  education,  taught  a  trade, 
and  at  length  gained  a  fair  position.  He  was  foreman  here, 
with  a  salary  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  a  month. 
He  had  a  very  comfortable  cottage  in  a  pleasant  street,  a 
thrifty  wife  who  even  now  did  a  little  dressmaking  when  her 
own  work  was  pretty  well  finished.  There  were  four  healthy, 
rosy  children,  and  Amos  Baxter  was  a  happy,  contented  man; 
read  his  paper  at  night  with  a  clear  conscience,  and  grumbled 
only  at  the  taxes  when  the  opposite  party  were  in  power.  A 
commonplace  man  with  a  commonplace  wife,  who  would  live 
and  die  in  this  station,  and  never  stir  up  the  world  trying  to 
get  out  of  it. 

"  For  there  must  always  be  a  producing  class  as  well  as  a 
consuming  class,"  was  his  bit  of  political  economy. 

So  you  may  infer  that  Mrs.  Baxter  was  not  one  of  the  hungry 
women  of  the  new  school,  or  her  husband  would  hardly  have 
been  suffered  to  plod  on,  and  feel  that  he  was  doing  his  best 
in  the  world. 

He  had  a  great  antipathy  to  the  restless  moods  of  such  men 
as  Hurst. 

"Why  can't  they  be  content  with  their  station?"  he  would 
ask  in  his  phlegmatic  way. 

Why?  If  a  man  is  born  with  fine  brain  and  nerves,  with 
an  eye  for  exquisite  sights  and  sounds,  and  a  soul  that  hungers 
after  beauty  in  all  its  manifold  forms,  can  he  be  content  with 
the  stone  that  is  proffered  him  for  bread  ?  If  he  hears  sounds 


With  Fate  against  Him.  135 

of  deeper  meaning  in  the  air,  and  can  translate  the  birds'  clear 
carol,  the  drone  of  bees,  and  the  hum  of  countless  insects, 
mingled  with  the  eternal  pulse  of  the  distant  ocean,  will  you 
sting  him  with  the  scorpion  of  content?  Rather  let  him  fight 
his  way  out  if  he  have  the  will  and  the  stamina,  and  if  he 
perish  by  the  wayside,  wash  your  hands  clean,  oh  Priest  and 
Levite,  flinging  the  last  drops  over  his  grave,  that  the  unquiet 
spirit  may  be  laid. 

With  Victor's  larger  income,  some  changes  had  appeared  in 
the  little  cottage.  The  floor  was  still  uncarpeted,  and  the 
chairs  and  other  ordinary  appointments  remained  the  same. 
But  the  napery  was  finer,  the  common  glass  was  exchanged, 
the  old,  time-worn  ware  gave  place  to  simple  white  china. 
There  was  always  a  bouquet  at  his  corner,  and  a  vase  in  each 
window.  The  little  courtyard  in  front  no  longer  depended  on 
neighbors  for  voluntary  offerings,  but  bloomed  abundantly  in 
choicest  fragrance.  Roses,  from  the  palest  tint  to  the  most 
glowing  velvety  crimson ;  thrifty,  healthy  mignonette  with  its 
mass  of  cool  greenery  and  uncomprehended  bloom  ;  choice 
geraniums,  and  spikes  of  tube-roses  for  late  summer  sweetness. 

And  Anah  Hurst  dared  to  make  fugitive  excursions  to  the 
lost  land  of  her  youth,  led  thither  by  her  son's  soul.  How 
much  beauty,  and  pleasure,  and  sweet  comfort  was  it  necessary 
to  give  up  in  order  to  enter  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  ?  It  had 
been  a  troubled  question  with  her  a  long  while.  Now  and 
then  the  old  cloud  crossed  her  brow. 

"You  don't  think  it  wrong?"  Victor  would  say,  when  he 
found  her  musing  on  the  shady  porch-bench,  with  the  ques 
tioning  look  in  her  eyes. 

"It  is  so  delightful!  I  sit  and  watch  their  beauty,  and 
wonder  if  they  were  made  for  a  snare,  when  one  ought  to  be 
thinking  of  human  things  instead  :  of  the  world  lying  in 
wickedness  without,  of  the  perishing  souls  that  go  up  to  judg 
ment  without  a  prayer." 

"  I  think  you  pray  for  them  all ;"  more  softly  than  was  his 


136  With  Fate  against  Him. 

wont.  "Do  you  suppose  God  grudges  us  this  bit  of  beauty, 
when  He  has  sown  so  much  broadcast  in  the  world  ?  You 
make  Him  narrow  and  cruel." 

Then  she  would  look  at  them  still,  with  a  mist  in  her  soft 
eyes,  and  wonder,  as  many  do,  who  bring  their  faith  within 
the  straitest  bounds,  what  the  Saviour  meant  when  He 
enjoined  His  disciples  to  give  up  houses  and  lands,  wife  and 
children,  and  follow  Him  with  scrip  and  staff.  The  man  lying 
yonder,  helpless  as  an  infant,  had  done  it,  and  where  was  his 
reward  ? 

Forgotten  already  !  Yes,  it  was  too  sadly  true.  A  new 
man  had  taken  his  place ;  a  man  of  loud  pretensions,  and  a 
peculiar  self-aggrandizement  that  you  find  in  some  natures. 
A  man  likely  to  reap  what  others  had  sown,  and  bring  in  his 
sheaves  with  much  complacency ;  but  who  believed  in  good 
dinners  as  well.  In  a  month  he  gained  more  credit  than  John 
Hurst  had  done  in  years.  His  clerical  brethren  began  to  make 
much  of  him,  and  wonder  that  they  had  not  discovered  poor 
brother  Hurst's  inefficiency  before. 

But  the  souls  up  in  heaven,  to  whom  he  had  preached  as 
the  Saviour  did  to  the  thief  upon  the  cross,  through  many  a 
weary  midnight,  what  answered  they?  Is  there  not  some  divine 
law  of  compensation  ?  Truly  said  St.  Paul,  "  If  the  dead  rise 
not  again,  we  are  of  all  men  most  miserable." 

Victor,  hearing  some  of  these  things,  carefully  kept  them 
from  his  mother  ;  chafing  secretly  at  her  reluctance  to  enjoy  the 
good  gifts  of  life  while  souls  without  were  still  in  need.  Her 
heart  was  so  tender  and  pitiful  to  all  in  want,  whether  it  came 
through  their  own  improvidence,  or  more  serious  misfortunes. 

But  being  shut  out  of  the  old  world  of  labor,  her  heart,  so 
long  active,  must  have  something  on  which  to  expend  its 
energies  and  tenderness.  For  John  Hurst,  at  present,  there 
was  nothing  beyond  purely  physical  wants.  If  reason  came 
back  to  him  for  a  few  moments,  he  was  more  likely  to  babble 
of  childhood's  green  fields  than  any  later  interest.  Since  her 


With  Fate  against  Him.  137 

son  had  allowed  her  to  gain  entrance  within  his  sacred  and 
secret  world,  she  thought,  prayed,  and  smiled  over  him,  begin 
ning  to  dream  strange,  wild  dreams,  and  anon  checking  her 
self,  and  bringing  out  the  old  work-basket,  for  "the  poor  ye 
have  always  with  you." 

Paul  Latour's  disappointment  had  been  deeper  than  one 
would  have  fancied  from  his  volatile  nature.  He  dropped  into 
the  little  cottage  now  and  then,  and  rather  shocked  Mrs. 
Hurst  with  his  bits  of  free,  daring  philosophy  that  he  flung  up 
rocket-wise.  Perhaps  it  was  as  well  that  Victor  should  not 
have  such  eyes  to  assist  him  in  his  first  views  of  the  world. 

An  encounter  in  a  photographic  gallery  supplied  him  with 
part  of  the  interest  which  his  soul  so  craved,  since  it  could  not 
have  nature  to  study. 

Alfred  Lowndes  was  working  himself  up  to  a  small  local 
reputation  with  little  genius  for  a  foundation,  and  much  indus 
try  and  actual  truth.  Now  and  then  he  translated  some  bit  of 
wood  and  water,  a  few  fallen  scarlet-brown  leaves,  shrivelled  by 
the  October  frosts,  faded  grasses  that  had  once  been  rank,  nod 
ding  their  yellow  heads  on  brown  stems,  with  a  late  dragon 
fly  perched  high  a-top,  a  moss-grown  stump  with  abundant 
lichens,  and  the  straggling  roots  washed  clean  by  the  pebbly 
stream.  The  faithfulness  in  it  would  be  good,  but  the  higher 
and  divine  power  called  "inspiration,"  seldom  racked  his 
brains  with  torturing  dreams  of  beauty. 

But  one  afternoon  Victor  gained  courage  to  blunder  into  a 
half-explanation. 

Would  Lowndes  give  him  some  lessons?  He  was  quite 
able  to  pay  for  the  trouble. 

"So  you've  a  fancy  that  way,  eh'?  Well,  it's  hard  work  !" 
sighing  like  an  old  pilgrim. 

"  It  would  be  a  kind  of  play  to  me  ;"  with  an  odd  smile. 
What  did  Lowndes'  limp,  white  hands  know  of  hard  work  ? 

The  artist  gave  a  little  inward  humph  of  contempt  at  the 
conceit  of  the  brawny  machinist,  who  would  be  much  more 


138  With  Fate  against  Him. 

at  home  amid  bars  of  iron  and  steel  than  fine  gradations  of 
color. 

Still,  when  it  came  to  that,  he  could  make  the  lessons  very 
little  trouble,  and  Alfred  Lowndes'  genius  was  not  of  the 
generous,-  prodigal  type,  neither  was  he  rich  enough  to  afford 
to  despise  money.  One  afternoon  each  week  Victor  spent  in 
the  little  den  partitioned  off  from  the  work  and  the  reception- 
room,  and  as  Lowndes  had  but  few  suggestions  to  make 
besides  the  merest  business,  to  Victor  it  was  a  kind  of  dreamy 
holiday-time,  when  he  could  forget  the  world  without. 

This  was  another  thing  that  fretted  Baxter,  who  insisted 
strenuously  upon  steadiness. 

"  It  gives  a  man  a  bad  reputation,  Hurst,"  he  said,  a  good 
deal  vexed.  "  What  can  you  want  of  an  afternoon  every 
week  ?" 

"That's  my  own  affair  ;"  his  nerves  stiffening  as  if  he  had 
some  unseen  enemy  to  beat  back.  "If  I  choose  to  lose  the 
time  it  does  not  cost  any  one  else  a  penny." 

"  But  we're  pretty  busy  now,  and  one  likes  to  depend  upon 
his  man.  It  makes  bad  work." 

And  Baxter  would  have  discharged  him  upon  the  spot, 
only  he  knew  well  that  Hurst,  with  his  lost  time,  did  as  much 
as  any  man  in  the  shop,  and  did  it  well. 

"What  a  pity  that  he  can't  be  content !"  glancing  at  him 
from  a  distance,  and  studying  the  lithe,  strong  figure.  "And 
if  he's  ambitious  he  might  have  a  place  of  his  own,  some  day. 
If  he  hadn't  been  a  parson's  son — "  but  there  the  wide  dif 
ference  between  Victor  Hurst  and  his  father  puzzled  the 
narrow  brain. 

So  Victor  stole  off  to  tJJb  studio  and  spent  the  hours  there 
that  would  go  too  fast,  always  too  fast.  There  was  so  much 
drudgery  to  learn  about  colors  that  he  used  often  to  get  dis 
couraged  ;  and  somehow,  the  fineness  of  detail  wearied  him 
exceedingly.  To  potter  for  hours  over  some  small  turn  of  a 
tree,  or  a  bit  of  shaggy  bark  browned  and  seamed  by  many 


With  Fate  against  Him.  139 

a  storm,  tried  his  patience  sorely.  Often  he  stayed  until  the 
last  red  ray  of  sunlight  would  drop  out  of  the  narrow  window 
and  all  the  air  seem  full  of  purple  motes. 

He  learned  something  besides  this  paltry  daubing,  and 
about  as  useless.  One  day  he  was  introduced  to  Miss  Marcia 
Lowndes. 

He  had  been  brought  in  contact  with  very  few  women. 
Through  boyhood  he  had  shunned  them,  and  the  odd  little 
talk  with  Sylvia  Redmond  was  about  the  only  episode  of  the 
kind  in  his  life. 

Miss  Marcia  Lowndes  might  have  been  "the  fiction  of 
twenty-five,  founded  upon  the  fact  of  forty."  She  and  her 
brother  were  types  of  tolerably  successful  mediocrity.  New 
England  school  teachers  at  first,  they  had,  with  Yankee  thrift 
and  perseverance,  contrived  to  make  their  way.  So,  when 
Alfred  Lowndes  found  a  fair  business  opening  at  Weareham, 
he  wrote  for  his  sister,  and  they  set  up  their  Lares  and  Penates 
in  the  smoky  town. 

"I've  made  quite  a  hit  here,"  he  declared  by  way  of  wel 
coming  her.  "My  method  of  finishing  photographs  takes 
wonderfully — it's  quite  new.  Then,  I've  sold  one  picture." 

The  height  of  his  ambition  was  to  go  abroad,  and  he  seemed 
in  a  fair  way  of  achieving  this  distinction. 

As  for  Miss  Lowndes,  she  had  quite  a  position  of  her  own. 
In  the  early  days  she  had  been  a  rabid  disciple  of  phrenology, 
brushed  her  flossy-flaxen  hair  straight  back  from  the  rather 
high,  narrow  forehead,  and  prated  of  perceptives,  reflectives, 
and  brain  power.  Since  then  she  had  written  a  book  and 
numerous  essays  for  second-rate  periodicals,  strongly  imbued 
with  misty  transcendentalism  and  Ifceak  dilutions  of  Carlyle, 
and  followed  Emerson's  "inner  impulses,"  according  to  her 
own  light. 

You  could  see  that  in  her  face;  but  now  it  was  "framed 
in,"  as  she  would  have  expressed  it,  by  the  fluffy  hair,  wnose 
silver  threads  were  scarcely  discernable  from  the  original,  the 


140  With.  Fate  against  Him. 

brows  and  lashes  being  of  the  same  indistinct  color.  Prob 
ably  with  the  roundness  and  red  and  white  of  youth  she  had 
been  pretty,  but  now  her  nose  was  sharp,  her  vague,  wander 
ing  eyes  of  no  particular  color,  and  her  chin,  always  too  long 
for  beauty,  had  not  improved  with  the  general  angularity  of 
years.  There  was  about  her  a  touch  of  fine  ladyism,  that  rus 
tled  like  a  new  silk  gown  ;  and  when  she  looked  at  you 
through  her  gold-bowed  glasses,  and  talked  impressively  of 
the  inner  centre,  and  the  development  of  soul  according  to  the 
higher  laws  of  nature,  you  felt  that  she  might  indeed  be  a 
latter-day  disciple. 

Stumbling  up  the  narrow  stairs  one  day,  Victor  found  her 
in  the  studio  instead  of  his  master.  In  the  work-room,  a  tall, 
lanky  boy  was  pottering  with  chemicals  and  washing  paper. 
Business  was  rather  dull  just  now,  and  customers  seldom 
dropped  in  after  the  morning. 

Miss  Lowndes  had  taken  quite  an  interest  in  this  pupil  of 
her  brother's.  On  the  whole,  there  was  a  trifle  of  romance 
about  his  history  that  went  to  prove  her  pet  theory,  that  genius, 
like  beauty,  was  no  respecter  of  position,  and  seldom  came  at 
the  beck  of  sordid  gold. 

He  flushed  at  finding  a  woman  in  this  "den,"  and  stopped 
short. 

"Really  splendid,"  was  her  mental  ejaculation.  "A  kind 
of  Titan,  with  a  Greek  contour,  and — and — the  bright  hair  of 
those  sunny  islands  bathed  by  the  glowing  sea.  There  cer 
tainly  is  the  divine  essence  in  his  face." 

"  My  brother  was  called  away  on  some  business.  You  are 
his  pupil,  Mr.  Hurst,  I  presume  ?"  and  as  she  inclined  her 
head  graciously,  the  fluffy  hair  fell  into  her  eyes.  "  He  left  a 
message  on  a  card.  How  could  I  have  been  so  careless  ?"  bus 
tling  about,  with  her  rather  fussy  motions.  "Oh,  here  it  is. 
And  I  must  apologize  ;  but  I  was  so  interested  in  these  studies. 
I  have  a  passionate  love  for  all  pertaining  to  art." 

Victor  flushed  and  took  the  card  awkwardly. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  141 

"And  you,  too,  are  ascending  the  hill  difficultly,  as  many  of 
us  have  to,  by  slow  and  toilsome  steps.  But  all  true  develop 
ment,  Mr.  Hurst,  must  come  from  the  inner  centre.  We  sec 
it  in  nature  everywhere.  Even  the  simple  grain  of  corn  teaches 
us  this  grand  fact." 

She  paused,  quite  out  of  breath,  and  taking  up  her  sandal-L 
wood  fan,  rjegan  to  fill  the  waves  of  air  with  pungent  odor. 

"And  how  long  a  grain  of  art  lies  dormant  in  the  brain  !" 
with  a  most  benignant  approval  of  his  silence  or  her  eloquence, 
which,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  tell.  "  How  slow  the  mys 
terious  processes  by  which  it  is  unfolded  !  Minerva  sprang  full- 
statured  from  the  brain  of  a  god,  but  we  unfortunates  of  a 
later  day  have  to  develop  according  to  circumstances, — often 
hard  and  unfavorable." 

"Yes,"  Victor  said,  briefly,  the  washed-out  eyes  seeming  to 
expect  a  reply. 

"You  have  known  the  struggles  of  a  longing,  aspiring  soul 
in  its  search  for  the  true  and  the  beautiful ;  you  have  watched 
for  the  divine  inspiration  through  many  a  weary  hour,  happy 
to  have  the  serene  influence  folded  about  you  at  last.  To  those 
who  are  not  born  blind  and  deaf,  Mr.  Hurst,  she  speaks  in 
every  leaf,  in  every  waft  of  air  from  orient  shores  ;  and  happy 
he  who  can  prison  her  on  canvas,  or  reproduce  her  in  verse. 
I  sometimes  tell  Alfred  that  I  envy  him.  Yet,  why  should  I 
not  be  content  with  my  own  gifts,  except  that  human  nature  is 
insatiable  !" 

The  fanning  went  on  more  vigorously.  Victor  began  to 
hunt  about  the  little  room  for  his  belongings.  He  could  not 
waste  his  precious  moments  listening  to  this  flighty  non 
sense. 

"  I  have  been  looking  over  your  studies.  I  suppose  I  ought 
not  to  have  taken  the  liberty ;  but  I  am  so  extravagantly  fond  of 
art.  This  head  of  Tantalus  is  wonderfully  fine  !" 

It  was  a  rough  sketch,  done  in  crayon  and  chalk  with  a  great 
deal  of  vigor. 


142  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Lowndes  was  rather  in  the  habit  of  snubbing  his  pupil  in 
these  matters.  He  always  took  high  pre-Raphaelitic  ground. 

"These  things,"  with  a  sniff  of  disdain  making  his  short 
nose  positively  stubby — "these  things  used  to  do  very  well,  but 
people,  or  rather  taste,  has  outgrown  them,  and  asks  for  pure 
nature.  The  closer  you  can  get  to  her  the  better  if  you  ever 
mean  to  do  anything." 

Which  closeness  meant  fidelity  to  a  hedge-bush,  if  it  had  not 
a  line  of  beauty  in  it,  or  the  lace  on  a  child's  apron. 

Though  Alfred  Lowndes  rather  liked  the  prestige  of  being 
master,  the  improvement  of  his  pupil  was  of  but  small  moment 
to  him.  These  strong,  unhandsome  faces,  with  their  wordless 
rage,  passion,  and  despair,  never  touched  him,  since  prettiness 
was  his  aim,  and  not  the  grandeur  of  beauty ;  while  the  small 
prettiness  of  detail  was  what  Victor  Hurst  would  never  be  able 
to  reproduce.  His  life-poem  must  be  an  epic,  not  a  fireside 
ballad. 

Her  appreciation  stirred  him  in  spite  of  the  silly  rhodomon- 
tade  that  had  gone  before,  so  little  comprehended  by  him  that 
he  hardly  knew  how  to  judge  it. 

"I  liked  it,"  he  answered,  timidly,  yet  with  the  honesty  of 
his  nature.  "  It  seems  as  if  more  of  my  soul  goes  into  such 
work." 

Alfred  had  said  before  he  went  out,  "  The  fellow  has  scarcely 
an  atom  of  true  genuis,  but  it  pleases  him  to  paint ;  and  I 
suppose  he  would  think  it  mean  in  me  to  refuse  a  helping 
hand." 

When  Miss  Lowndes  took  up  a  hobby  she  was  always  very 
enthusiastic  over  it,  and  she  possessed  a  more  generous  nature 
than  her  brother.  Besides,  she  had  a  great  passion  for  gather 
ing  little  circles  about  her.  With  her  lost  years  and  faded  face 
she  could  hardly  hope  for  lovers  ;  but  foolish  and  flighty  as  she 
was,  she  did  make  friends,  and  occasionally  admirers.  She 
had  seen  many  notabilities,  and  always  turned  her  personal 
knowledge  to  a  good  account. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  143 

The  manliness  and  physical  power  of  Victor  won  her  more 
than  the  power  of  his  genius.  He  was  handsome.  The  tall, 
symmetrical  figure,  the  eyes  that  could  flash  so  superbly,  the 
perfect  tints  of  health,  and  the  rich,  mellow  voice  pleased  her 
woman's  fancy.  Studying  him  a  little  more  closely,  she  saw 
that  his  foot  was  shapely,  and  his  hand,  not  the  brawny  hand 
of  a  blacksmith.  He  certainly  would  be  imposing  in  society. 
So  in  return  for  his  wasted  hour,  she  made  him  promise  to 
come  to  Rose  Cottage,  as  she  called  it. 

"  For  I  must  have  a  little  beauty,  and  this  town  is  so  ex 
ceedingly  ugly.  So  I  have  made  a  little  nest,  and  shall  be  glad 
to  see  you.  You  may  meet  some  people  whom  you  will  like, 
for  I  always  manage  to  surround  myself  with  congenial 
spirits." 

So  fan,  and  laced-handkerchief,  and  the  rustling  manner 
floated  down  stairs  with  Miss  Lowndes ;  and  for  once,  instead 
of  painting,  Victor  Hurst  fell  into  a  reverie. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Two  or  three  dainty,  delicate  notes  came  to  Victor  Hurst 
before  he  could  summon  sufficient  resolution  to  accept  an 
invitation  few  any  special  purpose.  He  had  strolled  down  to 
Rose  Cottage  twice  ;  the  first  time,  hearing  gay  voices,  he  had 
not  ventured  in,  and  the  second,  Miss  Lowndes  sat  alone  in 
the  vine-wreathed  porch. 

She  sprang  up  with  a  girl's  eagerness.  "So  glad,  so  de 
lighted  to  see  him.  Why  had  he  not  come  to  her  little  reunion  ? 
For,  indeed,  they  were  not  grand  enough  to  be  called  parties. " 

He  stammered  out  some  excuse — his  father  having  been 
worse  than  usual. 

"  How  very  sad  !"  and  Miss  Lowndes  sighed. 

He  was  awkward  and  ill  at  ease ;  and  half  wished  he  had 
not  ventured. 

"What  are  you  doing  now?"  Perhaps  Miss  Lowndes' 
social  success  was  partly  due  to  the  fact  that  she  always  led  her 
guests  to  talk  of  themselves  instead  of  burdening  them  with 
her  pains  and  anxieties. 

"Nothing;"  in  his  blunt,  brief  way.  "  I  sometimes  think 
that  perhaps  I  have  made  a  mistake.  There  is  no  ques 
tion  about  your  brother  having  a  genius  for  painting,  Miss 
Lowndes  ?" 

He  seemed  to  ask  it  in  a  humble,  eager  fashion.  In  his 
mind  he  was  studying  out  his  own  problem. 

"No,  I  should  think  not;"  with  a  pleased  little  laugh, 
rather  thin  and  hysterical.  "You  heard,  of  course,  that  he 
had  sold  another  picture?  And  he  has  two  orders  lor  out-of- 
*loor  photographic  views  that  will  be  .very  profitable. " 

"He  is  in  luck." 


With  Fate  against  Him.  145 

Victor  Hurst  tried  to  crowd  down  the  demon  of  envy,  rising 
in  his  breast.  He  was  very  human,  and  no  angelic  hero. 

"Yes.  Dear  Alfred!  He  deserves  it,  though:  he  has 
worked  very  hard.  And  I  may  tell  you  as  a  secret — please 
don't  mention  it  to  him — that  we  are  quite  certain  to  go  abroad 
in  the  fall." 

Victor  made  an  effort  to  draw  his  breath  regularly. 

"And  you — ?" 

"Oh,  I  shall  go,  of  course.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  have  been 
waiting  for  him.  It  has  been  the  great  ambition  of  my  life, 
Mr.  Hurst,  to  see  Rome,  the  once  mighty  queen  of  nations  ; 
the  Alps  ;  Switzerland,  with  its  pellucid  lakes,  and  the  blue 
Mediterranean  ;  to  spend  long  days  in  picture-galleries,  and 
hunting  over  old  ruins — " 

She  gave  a  gasp  for  breath — she  always  did  when  she  talked 
rapidly. 

' '  I  shall  write  a  book  of  travels,  and  probably  correspond 
for  several  papers  while  I  am  gone.  There  is  so  much  to  see 
abroad, — and  when  one  has  a  soul  easily  moved  by  these 
grand  touches  of  beauty,  the  enthusiasm  is  little  less  than 
inspiration." 

How  these  two  people  seemed  to  prosper  and  advance. 
Everything  flowed  in  to  them. 

"It  is  the  one  thing  you  need,  Mr.  Hurst.  When  it  comes 
to  that,  no  one's  education  is  really  finished  until  he  has  lived 
abroad.  But  you  are  so  devoted  to  your  dear  father." 

Victor  thought  of  the  narrow  chance  that  had  intervened. 

"As  a  people,  we  are  too  new  and  crude.  4We  need  toning 
down,  softening,  refining ;  and  the  leisure  of  foreign  lands 
gives  us  opportunity  for  this.  But  what  were  we  talking  of — 
oh,  my  brother's  genius." 

She  made  another  long  detour  over  .the  hills  and  vales  of 
fancy,  while  Victor  was  thinking  in  his  plain,  matter-of-fact 
way,  whether  he  had  the  constituent  elements  of  success  within 
his  soul,  and  if  so,  how  they  were  to  be  worked  out.  Day  by 

7 


146  With  Fate  against  Him. 

day  he  was  awakening  to  the  fact  that  another  had  begun  life 
wrongly  for  him.  He  could  never  find  happiness  nor  content 
in  the  shop  yonder  ;  and  yet,  what  if  he  made  a  more  fatal  mis 
take  himself?  He  and  Alfred  Lowndes  were  so  very  dissimilar  ; 
if  one  had  genius,  the  other  must  be  some  distance  from  it. 

And  what  was  he  to  do  then  ?     Give  up  his  plans,  his  love  ? 

She  flattered  and  soothed,  after  the  fashion  of  shallow,  and 
rather  tender-hearted  women,  and  he  returned  home  in  a  bet 
ter  humor  with  himself,  promising  to  attend  her  next  reunion. 

Fortunately  for  his  self-complacency,  Alfred  was  called 
away  ;  for  although  there  was  an  outward  friendliness  between 
the  two,  some  fine,  inexplicable  difference  would  keep  them 
from  being  even  ordinarily  sympathetic. 

Victor  was  rather  glad  to  please  Miss  Lowndes.  He  found 
her  in  white,  with  an  abundance  of  flying  ends  of  ribbon,  and 
hair  dropping  in  her  pale  eyes  with  every  motion  ;  but  she 
welcomed  him  warmly,  and  soon  made  him  feel  at  home. 

Rose  Cottage  abounded  in  small  shams,  as  cheap  beauty  is 
ever  apt  to  do  ;  and  yet,  why  grumble  since  it  has  become  the 
fashion  to  preach  economy  and  beauty  together.  If  the  vases 
were  not  Bohemian  and  Malachite,  the  flowers  looked  prettily 
in  them,  and  the  different  colors  showed  cheerfully  in  the 
lamp-light.  What  mattered  the  cheap  Brussels  under  foot, 
the  plain  muslin  curtains  tied  back  with  ribbon,  and  many 
another  thing  that  Miss  Lowndes  had  arranged  in  the  pleni 
tude  of  her  complacency?  Why  destroy  all  these  illusions 
with  the  stem  voice  of  reality,  that  decrees  your  lace  shall  be 
of  the  best  or  none  at  all,  your  glass  and  china  fine,  or  else 
no  friends  shall  be  invited  to  gaze  upon  it  ? 

In  spite  of  being  a  stranger,  Victor  did  enjoy  the  evening. 
The  guests,  like  the  appointments,  were  not  of  the  highest  order, 
but  they  had  a  certain,  refinement  and  cultivation,  very  fascinat 
ing  to  him  who  could  only  gauge  them  by  the  simple  events 
of  his  own  life,  and  the  still  lower  round  in  which  his  destiny 
had  been  cast  Men  who  discussed  Goethe  and  Schiller,  Kant 


With  Fate  against  Him.  147 

and  Swedenborg,  and  Shlegel,  who  had  stories  to  tell  of  Paris 
salons,  or  Roman  studios,  or  who,  coming  nearer  home, 
touched  upon  abstract  theories,  or  vital  questions  that  roused 
him  to  a  sense  of  new  life,  and  made  him  hate  more  than 
ever  to  drone  out  his  days  in  a  workshop.  Not  from  any 
purely  personal  -Sfense  of  pride,  but  a  deeper  craving  for  the 
spiritual  existence  that  so  mocked  him  with  airy,  delicate 
visions. 

The  women  were  not  so  entertaining  to  him,  their  round  of 
subjects  being  much  narrower,  and  he  was  quite  delighted  to 
steal  away  to  a  corner  where  two  pale,  gaunt-eyed  men  were 
discussing  the  old  problem  of  social  equality.  Was  it  strange 
that  he  should  drink  in  heresies  for  truth  ? 

But  how  to  get  out  of  the  groove  was  what  puzzled  him. 
What  could  he  do  but  the  one  thing,  money  being  an  absolute 
necessity  ! 

And  so  his  mother  saw  him  growing  moody  and  restless 
again.  The  trees  and  flowers,  bits  of  rock  and  stream,  and 
the  puzzle  of  light  and  shade  lost  its  charm.  He  could  make 
nothing  look  like  the  grand  picture  out  of  doors.  Beside 
that,  the  daubing  was  vile,  miserable  stuff. 

"Vet  to  give  it  up  seemed  like  relinquishing  all  that  made 
life  endurable.  To  be  thrust  down  to  that  bare,  bald,  bread- 
and-butter  existence,  with  its  monotonous  labor  from  morning 
till  night — did  God  ask  it  of  any  human  soul  ?  Was  it  not 
rather  some  horrible  cruelty  of  man,  some  device  to  grind  and 
torture  his  neighbor  when  he  had  a  chance? 

He  went  down  the  river  a  fortnight  afterward,  as  Miss 
Lowndes'  escort  to  a  grand  musical  entertainment  in  one  of 
the  loveliest  groves  in  the  surrounding  country.  An  out-door 
concert  with  the  freedom  of  a  picnic  attached.  He  had  been 
fighting  his  own  soul  so  hardly  of  late  that  he  felt  pushed  to 
the  last  gasp,  and  was  glad  of  a  little  rest. 

Who  would  have  guessed  it  from  his  handsome  face,  where 
the  moodiness  left  only  the  stamp  of  a  haughty  spirit?  Miss 


148  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Lowndes  entertained  him  in  her  usual  weak,  effusive  style,  but 
he  had  lost  interest  in  Wilhelm  Meister,  and  for  his  soul  could 
not  have  told  what  the  distinctive  features  of  a  Claude  paint 
ing  were,  and  wherein  it  differed  from  the  Dutch  masters. 

There  was  music  in  abundance.  Paul  Latour  had  stirred 
his  soul  with  a  single  voice  ;  to-day,  this  orchestra  trailing  the 
winding  melody  of  French  horn,  flute,  and  viol,  with  all  the 
blare  of  noisier  instruments  until  the  fragrant  woodland  air  was 
one  pulsating  sea  of  melody,  never  roused  him  at  all. 

Leaving  the  women  to  their  gossip  and  criticisms,  he  stole 
away  to  a  thicket  and  threw  himself  on  a  mossy  bank.  From 
this  little  loop-hole  he  watched  the  gay  crowd  surging  to  and 
fro,  for  now  the  orchestra  had  disbanded  for  a  brief  while. 
The  brilliant  panorama  of  handsome  women,  for  in  this  sum 
mer  glamor  of  leafy  shade  and  sifting  sunshine,  hair,  and  cheek, 
and  eye  caught  a  softened  splendor. 

Two  men  approached  slowly.  The  taller  of  the  two  was  a 
fine,  portly  man,  of  aristocratic  bearing,  and  a  face  still  hand 
some  in  spite  of  the  marks  of  good  living  and  worldliness. 
Victor  shut  his  eyes  with  a  haunting  pain,  as  if  he  must  re 
member  where  he  had  seen  it  before.  The  turn  of  the  head, 
the  peculiar  and  curious  grace  of  a  fine  manner,  and  even 
the  smile  seemed  strangely  familiar. 

The  other  was  smaller  and  slighter,  stooped  a  trifle  and  had 
the  serious  air  of  a  scholar,  and  the  careless  dress  of  one  who 
studied  the  world  and  its  ways  but  little,  and  heeded  them  less 
yet.  A  sweet,  pleasant  countenance,  though  not  one  that 
impressed  you  strongly  at  first. 

"What  foolishness,  Milnor,"  the  taller  exclaimed  with  a 
careless  laugh.  "  Let  me  drive  you  over  to  see  Mrs.  Gilliat 
instead.  I  should  think  by  this  time  you  had  enough  of 
unfortunate  proteges  to  let  unfledged  geniuses  alone." 

Victor  caught  the  name — Gilliat.  And  then  there  rushed 
over  him  the  remembrance  of  a  night  a  year  ago — the  episode 
he  had  half-forgotten.  Had  this  name  any  connection  with  it? 


With  Fate  against  Him.  149 

"  I  promised  to  see  him,  at  least." 

"To  please  a  foolish  woman.  Milnor,  you  hardly  improve 
with  age,"  giving  a  gay,  genial  laugh,  in  which  there  could  not 
be  a  thought  of  offence.  "You  are  as  famous  a  radical  as 
ever. " 

' '  And  you  are  a  born  aristocrat." 

Mr.  Gilliat  bowed  courteously ;  princely,  it  seemed  to  Victor 
Hurst.  There  was  a  fascination  in  watching  the  man. 

"I  plead  guilty  to  the  charge,  but  you  cannot  accuse  me  of 
having  grafted  foreign  manners  on  native  birth." 

"  No^  you  had  it  always,  as  a  boy,  I  recollect.  But  the 
world  changes  a  little,  Gilliat. " 

"Does  it?"  with  a  good-humored  smile.  "  For  the  worse 
I  think.  Our  race  of  noblemen  and  ladies  is  dying  out  Coarse 
braggarts,  with  loud  voices  and  manners  that  smack  of  trade, 
are  taking  the  place  of  the  former,  and  blatant  women,  sharp 
and  shrill,  prate  of  rights  and  wrongs  and  discuss  subjects  in 
market-places  that  would  not  have  been  named  among  them 
twenty  years  ago. " 

"You  judge  from  a  few  isolated  cases,  Gilliat.  I  think,  in 
spite  of  the  great  cry,  that  our  women  are  as  noble  as  ever. 
That  they  prove  themselves  competent  to  fill  high  places  is  not 
to  their  disfavor,  in  my  view." 

"There  may  be  a  few  instances  where  they  prove  themselves 
competent,  but  these  are  women  of  birth  and  breeding.  But 
this  leaven  coming  up  from  the  lower  orders — " 

"Will  leaven  the  whole  lump.  Is  that  what  you  are  afraid 
of?  Let  it  come,  I  say.  Let  us  have  the  strength,  the 
endurance,  the  vigor  and  health  with  the  refinement  of  what 
you  call  high  birth.  What  is  it  after  all  but  an  accident  ?" 

"  More  than  that,  my  friend.  It  is  a  life  of  culture,  leisure, 
surroundings  that  appeal  to  the  noblest  and  most  delicate 
emotions  of  the  human  soul,  a  freedom  from  wearing  cares 
that  debase  the  brain  and  render  it  coarse,  stolid,  from  the  gross 
heat  that  makes  the  blood  low  and  sluggish  in  a  man's  veins. 


i5o  With  Fate  against  Him. 

And  you  can  never  raise  your  'people'  so  high  but  that  some 
of  the  old  desires  will  crop  out." 

"We  have  had  many  noble  men,  from  the  people,  as  you 
call  them.  Poets,  painters,  statesmen,  wise  and  efficient 
rulers." 

"And  in  how  many  cases  can  you  trace  the  ambition  back 
to  this  birth  that  you  so  decry,  poverty  being  the  accident  ?" 

"Well  then,  let  us  make  a  bridge  for  these  brave  souls  who 
even  dare  to  breast  the  broad  stream  of  fate.  Give  them  a 
helping  hand." 

Gilliat  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  infinite  grace,  and  a 
mocking  smile  played  around  his  lips. 

"For  the  few  worthy  you  help — who?  The  scum  and  re 
fuse,  the  men  and  women  who  have  their  birthright  for  shops 
and  factories.  It  is  a  great  mistake,  Milnor,  that  men  like 
you  with  fine  instincts  think  their  duty  lies  in  bringing  up  these 
masses  ;  a  mistake  that  you  sensible  reformers  will  one  day  rue 
bitterly.  Look  how  our  country  is  flooded  now.  Every  peri 
odical  teems  with  French  socialism  ;  or  worse,  the  right  of  the 
lowest  and  vilest  to  cry  down  the  noble  and  refined,  the  right 
of  the  laborer  to  dictate  to  his  employer,  the  servant  to  his 
master.  And  yet  you  insist  upon  taking  men  out  of  shops, 
making  miserable  daubs  or  maudlin  poets  of  them.  They 
turn  and  rend  you,  of  course." 

Milnor  smiled  carelessly.  Years  ago  he  and  Gilliat  had  sat 
over  their  wine  and  discussed  the  same  subject,  yet  through  it 
all  they  had  preserved  a  peculiar  friendship. 

' '  I  have  not  been  rent  very  often, "  with  an  odd  and  rather 
meaning  intonation. 

"Not  personally,  perhaps.  Yet  every  year  the  disaffection 
grows  wider.  It  seems  to  me  that  all  persons  having  the  good 
of  society  at  heart,  would  join  hands  in  preserving  order,  in 
keeping  the  distinction  clearly  marked.  There  must  be  two 
classes  ;"  and  a  little  frown  marked  the  broad,  indolent  look 
ing  brow. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  1 5 1 

"Never  fear  ;  there  will  be  dozens  of  classes  while  the  world 
stands. " 

"That  is  just  the  difficulty  —  no  one  in  his  right 
place." 

' '  And  if  I  can  help  some  poor  soul,  astray  by  force  of  cir 
cumstances,  to  find  his  right  place,  I  shall  still  consider  it  my 
duty  ;"  with  a  kind  of  graceful  persistence. 

"  Forgetting  your  old  friends  thereby  ?" 

"Not  forgetting  them.     You  know  me  better  than  that." 

"Indeed  I  do.  Forgive  me  for  longing  to  convert  you 
from  the  error  of  your  ways.  Look  at  it  in  a  sensible  light, 
Milnor.  When  a  poor  man  is  content  with  his  station,  for 
God's  sake  let  him  remain  there.  He  will  be  as  happy  with 
his  wife  and  children,  his  simple  wants  and  pleasures.  When 
you  take  him  out  of  his  sphere  you  give  him  a  hundred  crude, 
impossible  desires,  heart-burnings,  envyings,  strifes.  You 
overtask  an  already  wearied  brain,  and  the  result  is  a  miserable 
failure,  a  man  ashamed  to  work,  and  incapable,  yes,  really 
incapable  of  anything  higher  in  the  truest  sense.  It 'takes 
generations  of  culture  and  refinement  to  make  men." 

Milnor  answered  with  a  quaint  smile.  He  and  his  friend 
had  gone  over  this  ground  so  often  in  the  old  days. 

"Come,  leave  the  young  genius  to  work  out  his  own  salva 
tion.  If  there  is  the  true  ring  to  his  gold  you  will  hear  of  it 
sometime.  Mrs.  Gilliat  will  be  delighted  to  see  you — you 
have  not  met  her  since  we  were  abroad.  Mrs.  Redmond  is 
with  her — you  remember  Margaret  Randolph,  surely  ?" 

"Yes;"  absently,  as  if  there  were  some  old  memory  con 
nected  with  it.  "  Redmond  is  dead,  I  have  understood." 

"Yes,  long  ago.  It  was  a  marriage  little  to  the  old  man's 
mind.  He  never  forgave  Margaret  cordially,  until  aft£r  Red 
mond's  death.  That  occurred  North,  I  believe." 

"So  your  people  of  blue  blood  do  go  astray  sometimes1" 
with  a  peculiar  smile. 

"Redmond's   family   were   well    enough."   rather    testily, 


j52  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"  But  his  father  had  run  through  with  most  of  the  property, 
and  Margaret  might  have  done  better." 

"When  do  you  go?"  Milnor  drew  his  watch  out  slowly 
and  glanced  at  it. 

"In  about  half  an  hour.  I  brought  Miss  Redmond  over 
with  us,  she  had  a  great  fancy  to  see  the  crowd.  You  will 
find  her  more  entertaining  than  your  genius,  I  dare  say ; 
especially  if  he  is  a  protege  of  that  foolish  Miss  Lowndes." 

Victor  Hurst  had  lain  there  listening  to  the  soft  flow  of  talk 
as  he  listened  to  the  thrush's  warble  in  the  clump  of  young 
cedars,  or  the  flow  of  the  river  where  it  fretted  against  a  huge 
boulder.  There  was  in  it  no  confidence  that  need  trouble  his 
conscience,  though  the  arguments  had  stung  him  now  and 
then,  but  only  as  the  prick  of  a  gnat.  But  to  hear  Miss 
Lowndes  mentioned — 

"I  will  compromise  with  you  Gilliat ;"  and  Milnor  started 
up.  "I  will  see  if  the  young  man  can  be  found  within  the 
next  half  hour.  It  cannot  make  much  difference,  as  I  shall 
be  in'  Weareham  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks.  I  can  see  him 
there." 

Victor  gnawed  the  scarlet  lip,  quivering  with  the  heat  of 
sudden  passion,  and  a  frown  knotted  the  fair  brow.  So  Miss 
Lowndes  had  been  interesting  this  delicate,  fastidious  man  in 
his  behalf,  yet  a  few  words  from  Gilliat  had  turned  the  current. 

He  leaned  back  on  his  mossy  pillow,  looking  dully  up 
through  the  green  breaks  between  him  and  the  sky,  where 
the  grains  of  sunlight  were  sifted  through,  and  yet  he 
saw  nothing.  The  slow,  odorous  air  paused  to  play  among 
his  bright  locks,  but  he  felt  no  grateful  coolness,  only  proud, 
reckless  passion-heats.  He  experienced  a  strange  and  unac 
countable  antipathy  to  the  very  name  of  Gilliat,  and  he  would 
take  nothing  from  the  man's  friend. 

"  Truant !"  Miss  Lowndes  exclaimed,  tapping  his  arm  with 
her  fan  when  he  sauntered  into  the  little  group  nearly  an  hour 
later,  "where  have  you  lingered  ?  A  golden  opportunity  might 


With  Fate  against  Him.  163 

have  dropped  into  your  life,  if  you  had  but  been  here.     I  am 
displeased  with  you." 

' '  And  I  sorry  to  have  offended — that  is  all.  As  for  oppor 
tunities — " 

"No,  you  shall  not  rail.  Your  face  is  full  of  lofty  contempt, 
but  if  you  had  seen  Mr.  Milnor.  He  is  a  very  prince  among 
men,  and  I  could  not  resist  telling  him  your  story.  We 
sought  for  you  everywhere, — he  was  so  interested.  And  at 
last  he  had  to  leave,  he  had  promised  to  go  with  a  friend." 

"Perhaps  it  is  as  well.  I  should  hardly  be  able  to  sustain 
the  interest  you  have  created." 

There  was  a  sharpness  in  his  voice  that  fell  unpleasantly 
upon  Miss  Lowndes'  ear.  She,  woman-like,  desired  to  have 
her  favors  and  generous  offers  appreciated,  and  she  had  taken 
some  pains  to  place  the  young  man  in  his  best  light.  Not 
understanding  the  current  which  vexed  and  tormented  his  soul, 
she  could  not  make  allowance. 

She  prided  herself  upon  her  penetration.  It  was  her  boast 
among  her  friends  that  she  only  needed  to  see  a  person  once 
or  twice  to  gauge  his  or  her  capabilities  ;  and,  like  all  hasty 
verdicts,  hers  were  shallow  and  unreasoning.  Still,  circum 
stances  proved  her  right  now  and  then,  giving  her  more  faith 
in  herself. 

"You  would  be  fortunate  in  making  such  a  friend,"  and 
her  voice  went  up  to  a  thin,  shrill  intonation,  showing  that  she 
was  not  pleased.  But  he  was  in  no  mood  to  heed  it. 

"1  believe  I  am  not  one  of  the  fortunate  kind," 
dryly. 

"  Mr.  Milnor  is  a  man  of  means,  and  if  he -took  a  fancy 
to  a  person,  or  believed  him  really  capable,"  worthy,  she  meant 
to  say,  but  the  lowering  cloud  in  his  face  prevented,  for  Miss 
Lowndes  could  only  be  spiteful,  not  courageous,  and  just  here 
she  did  not  dare,  so  she  smoothed  it  over  adroitly,  "  he  would 
do  a  great  deal.  I  know  of  several  whom  he  has  helped 
educate." 

7* 


1 54  With  Fate  against  Him. 

He  was  in  no  mood  for  obligation  just  then  ;  even  her  fool 
ish  patronage  irked  him.  And  that  she  should  have  begged 
assistance  for  him  ! 

So  he  vexed  her  with  his  ungraciousness.  The  music  lost 
its  charm,  and  the  endless  rambling  around  became  tiresome. 
He  was  glad  to  have  the  day  over  at  last,  and  find  himself 
just  after  sunset,  walking  up  through  the  little  garden,  full  of 
fragrant  bloom. 

His  mother  met  him  at  the  porch.  A  strange,  lowly  light 
shone  in  her  tranquil  face,  as  if  in  her  soul  the  sun  had  not 
gone  down. 

"Have  you  had  a  pleasant  day?"  clasping  the  hot,  throb 
bing  palm  in  hers,  and  looking  through  the  poor,  thin  smile, 
to  the  discontent  beyond,  a  little  pained  and  startled. 

"No  !  but  it  was  my  fault.  I  sometimes  think  I  had  better 
go  back  to  the  shop  and  stay  there.  I  am  morose,  unsocial, 
full  of  whims  and  fancies,  and  the  shallow  talk  of  the  women 
bores  me  intolerably." 

Something  beyond  that,  she  saw.  How  had  he  come  by 
this  sore,  over-sensitive  soul,  that  was  so  easily  jostled  about 
right  and  left  ?  And  not  being  able  to  solve  that,  she  said, 
softly — 

"  He  is  better  :  clothed  in  his  right  mind,  and  remembers  a 
good  deal  of  the  past.  And  he  has  asked  for  you. " 

Victor  glanced  at  her  with  searching  eyes. 

"Our  secret  is  still  in  our  own  hands,"  she  continued,  with 
a  great  tremble  in  her  voice. 

' '  There  let  it  remain ;"  and  stooping,  he  kissed  her,  trying 
to  thrust  the  foul,  hungry  discontent  out  of  sight.  For,  until 
his  duty  came  to  an  end  here,  he  had  no  right  to  aught  be 
yond. 

"Will  you  see  him?" 

"Yes." 

The  room  was  in  a  flush  of  golden  and  purple  twilight. 
John  Hurst  lay  there  with  a  face  full  of  childlike  content, 


With  Fate  against  Him.  i55 

though  the  expression  seemed  to  waver  a  little,  like  a  dying 
flame  groping  among  ashes  for  some  sustenance.  Yet  to 
the  eyes  had  returned  a  faint  glow  of  the  spiritual,  of  softer 
light  than  had  shone  in  them  for  many  a  day  ;  a  kind  of  rest 
and  satisfaction,  as  if,  having  seen  heaven  opened,  he  was  con 
tent  to  feast  by  faith,  for  the  present.  In  place  of  the  grayness 
had  come  a  pure  transparency  to  the  wrinkled  skin,  and  the 
blue-veined,  bony  hands  were  soft  as.an  infant's. 

He  glanced  up  wistfully  as  Victor  entered.  The  young  man 
walked  straight  to  the  bedside.  Whatever  of  vexation  and 
wounded  pride  had  tossed  and  tried  him  sorely  was  not  visi 
ble  now. 

"Father,"  softly,  taking  the  withered  hand. 

"My  son."  The  voice  was  vague  and  tremulous,  as  if  not 
quite  certain  of  its  own  sound.  "  It  has  been  a  long  while — " 

"But  you  are  better  now,"  soothingly. 

"Yes — only,"  with  a  look  of  piteous,  entreating  pathos, 
"I  shall  never  be  well  again,  never.  God's  hand  has  been 
laid  heavily  upon  me.  In  my  old  age  He  has  taken  health  and 
strength,  and  left  me  helplessness.  Wherein  have  I  so  offended 
Him  ?" 

"It  is  not  that,  I  think,"  longing  to  comfort,  and  yet  feel 
ing  the  utter  emptiness  of  soul  which  comes  of  unbelief. 

"Yet  He  has  left  me  something  out  of  the  wreck,"  glanc 
ing  at  his  wife,  who  stood  by  the  window  opposite,  the  faint 
light  making  an  aureola  on  the  top  of  her  soft  hair.' 

"And  a  son  as  well." 

Victor  knelt  by  the  bedside.  The  trembling  hands  were 
folded  over  his  head. 

"A  son,"  the  fluttering  voice  said.  "A  son.  Thank  Him, 
my  soul." 

And  then  Victor  knew  what  manner  of  doubt  had  been 
wandering  through  the  feeble  mind. 

His  mother  wiped  away  a  few  stray  tears,  and  breathed  a 
little  prayer  of  thankfulness. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  IT  is  better  to  tell  .the  truth,  Miss  Lowndes,  therefore 
candor  compels  me  to  state  that  I  see  no  real  evidence  of 
genius  in  the  works  of  your  friend.  They  are  faulty  in  design, 
weak  in  execution,  and  lack  even  a  nice  eye  for  detail.  A  man 
must  do  one  of  two  things — either  copy  nature  with  rare 
fidelity,  or  branch  boldly  out  in  untried  ways  and  present  the 
weird  and  strange  to  us  with  such  force  that  we  are  compelled 
to  believe  in  his  power,  even  against  our  will,  sometimes." 

Mr.  Milnor  had  been  inspecting  the  portfolio  with 
scholarly  eyes,  trained  by  fine  habits  of  thought,  study,  and 
experience.  With  all  this  he  was  a  very  merciful  critic  wher 
ever  he  saw  a  shadow  of  merit,  as  Miss  Lowndes  well  knew. 

"  But  he  is  so  young  yet,  and  has  studied  such  a  very  little. 
His  best  sketches  are  not  here.  He  has  several  heads  that  I 
think  are — are — " 

"Rubbish  !  as  I've  said  all  along,"  interrupted  Alfred,  im 
patiently.  "  He  has  done  some  rough  things  that  may 
possibly  indicate  a  kind  of  brutal  strength,  but  not  that  out  of 
which  artists  are  made." 

Alfred  Lowndes  had  risen  immensely  in  his  own  estimation 
in  the  course  of  the  last  ten  days  ;  and  it  had  come  from  a 
trifle  heretofore  rather  discouraging.  A  picture  of  his,  pretty 
enough  so  far  as  neatness,  order,  and  naturalness  went,  had 
been  put  in  chromo  without  attracting  very  much  attention  for 
the  past  three  months,  and  suddenly  blazed  into  notoriety. 
Orders  were  pouring  in,  and  for  a  few  days  his  studio  had  been 
thronged.  In -the  excitement  his  old  pictures  had  been  dis 
posed  of  advantageously.  Then  a  friend  of  his,  lately  come 


With  Fate  against  Him.  i5/ 

into  possession  of  a  moderate  legacy,  had  proposed  to  buy  out 
the  place  and  set  up  photography  himself. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  faults  of  "a  Summer  After 
noon,"  in  oil,  it  made  a  charming  chromo.  The  vague  sug 
gestive  coolness  happened  to  touch  some  critic's  heart  on  a 
fiery  August  day,  and  the  plodding  fellow,  with  whom  perse 
verance  was  the  best  virtue,  took  a  long  stride  up  the  steep  hill 
of  fame.  But,  instead  of  being  generous,  he  looked  disdain 
fully  down  on  his  struggling  fellow-mortals. 

"  I'm  sure,  Alfred — " 

"My  sister,  like  women  in  general,  took  a  great  fancy  to 
him  on  account  of  his  handsome  face,  though  I  never  could 
see  the  beauty  of  mere  animalism." 

"  It  wasn't  that,  though  you  will  admit  at  last  that  he  is 
handsome,"  rather  triumphantly. 

"If  Greek  brigands  of  the  most  impossible  type  were  in  my 
line,  I  should  ask  him  to  sit." 

Milnor  laughed.  He  had  done  one  or  two  small  favors  for 
Miss  Lowndes  in  years  gone  by,  and  her  gratitude  being  of  the 
profuse  and  sentimental  order,  she  had  never  forgotten  it.  He 
was  one  of  those  sweet-humored,  sympathetic  men  who  always 
look  at  a  person  on  his  or  her  best  side,  and  manage  to  see 
virtues  where  the  rest  of  the  world  are  blind.  So,  to  make  up 
for  Miss  Lowndes'  great  disappointment,  he  had  promised  to 
visit  her  brother's  studio,  inventing  some  business  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment  to  call  him  to  Weareham. 

' '  How  did  you  first  meet  with  this  hero  of  yours  ?"  and  he 
looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  He  used  to  come  in  and  study  the  pictures.  I'll  give  the 
fellow  credit  for  good  taste,  and  a  love  for  art ;  but  that  isn't 
eTerything. " 

"No." 

"And  then  he  begged  me  to  give  him  a  few  lessons.  He's 
had  one  a  week ;  but  even  now  he  can  hardly  tell  one  color 
from  another." 


1 58  With  Fate  against  Him. 

' '  It's  such  a  little  while.  Look  how  long  you  were,  Alfred, 
before  you  painted  anything." 

"  It  is  not  much,  but  he  has  been  practising  a  long  while,  it 
seems,  and  he  can't  even  make  a  correct  outline.  Then  he 
has  no  patience." 

For  now  Alfred  Lowndes,  after  the  fashion  of  many  others  in 
success,  would  rather  push  down  than  help  up  the  weak,  cling 
ing  steps.  But  he  never  had  been  very  enthusiastic  over  his 
pupil. 

"  You  mentioned,  I  think,  that  he  was  employed  at — some 
thing  ?" 

"He  is  a  machinist,"  said  Lowndes,  coarsely;  "he  knows 
more  about  welding  steel  than  mixing  colors." 

' '  But  I'm  sure  that  ought  not  to  be  used  to  his  disadvan 
tage,"  Miss  Lowndes  remarked,  pathetically.  "  It  shows  that 
there  is  something  in  the  man's  soul,  when  he  desires  to  leave 
behind  the  distasteful  life." 

"Simply  because  it  is  distasteful?"  queried  Mr.  Milnor. 
"There  is  a  good  deal  of  morbid  theorizing  on  this  subject 
now-a-days. " 

"The  man  is  a  good  mechanic  and  can  earn  his  four 
dollars  a  day.  I've  seen  the  time  when  I'd  been  glad  to  get 
it.  I  shall  tell  him  when  he  comes  to-morrow  that  painting, 
clearly,  is  not  his  vocation." 

"  I  should  advise  him  to  pursue  some  other  walk  in  life," 
Milnor  rejoined,  slowly.  "  What  about  his  education  ?  His 
father  was  a  clergyman,  I  think  you  said  ?" 

"A  kind  of  missionary  to  the  lower  orders,"  with  as  much 
disgust  as  Alfred  Lowndes  could  put  in  a  tone.  "I  guess  he 
had  not  much  chance  for  education." 

Foolish  and  pretentious  as  Marcia  Lowndes  was,  there  was 
much  more  real  delicacy  in  her  than  in  her  brother  ;  but  perhaps 
they  both  seemed  coarse  and  commonplace,  by  comparison, 
with  the  circle  out  of  which  Milnor  chose  his  acquaintances, 
or  even  his  protege's.  And  now  he  thought  of  this  poor  clergy- 


With  Fate  against  Hi;;i.  1 5 9 

man's  son,  too  indolent  perhaps  to  study,  but  clinging  to  a 
false  and  sickly  ambition.  Better  leave  him  in  his  place,  as 
Gilliat  had  said. 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  Mr.  Lowndes ;  I  do  not  think  the 
man  will  ever  make  an  artist." 

"You  see,  Marcia,"  nodding  his  head  triumphantly. 

Marcia  was  utterly  humiliated.  She  would  not  have  taken 
her  rebuff  so  meekly  but  that  she  had  a  growing  consciousness 
that  her  brother  was  fast  merging  into  a  great  man,  and 
instead  of  being  the  leading  spirit,  she  must  drop  into  the 
secondary  place  provided  for  all  women  when  their  work  is 
done.  He  would  want  little  advice,  or  counsel,  or  encourage 
ment  from  her,  since  his  world  had  grown  so  much  larger. 
And  the  poor  woman  sighed. 

But  Mr.  Milnor  tried  to  comfort  her  by  walking  home  with 
her  and  partaking  of  some  cake  and  currant  wine.  She  hated 
to  give  up  her  protege,  but  Mr.  Milnor  placed  it  in  a  strong, 
sensible  light. 

"He  may  never  be  able  to  do  anything  really  worth  the 
effort,  and  it  will  only  add  another  to  the  list  of  dissatisfied 
people,  with  whom  the  world  already  teems.  I  think  your 
brother  is  right,  Miss  Lowndes." 

If  she  only  dared  she  would  like  to  have  said  :  "  He  has 
more  real  genius  than  Alfred ;"  but  she  was  afraid  to  go  against 
the  world's  opinion. 

Mr.  Milnor  was  puzzling  his  brains  over  a  problem  he  could 
not  solve  satisfactorily  :  how  had  these  two  people,  with  a  very 
small  modicum  of  talent  in  the  beginning,  succeeded  in  gain 
ing  such  a  foothold  in  the  world's  esteem  ?  And  so  he  lost 
sight  of  Victor  Hurst  altogether. 

Alfred  Lowndes  was  well  primed  for  his  opinion  the  next 
day.  Victor  listened  attentively. 

"I  had  decided  the  case  for  myself,  Mr.  Lowndes,"  he 
replied,  quietly,  quite  in  contrast  with  the  other's  pompous 
manner.  "I  have  not  the  genius  for  a  painter.  Still,  I 


160  With  Fate  against  Him. 

do  not  regret  the  practice.  I  have  learned  some  useful 
lessons. " 

He  gathered  the  outlines  and  sketches,  and  replaced  them  in 
his  portfolio,  scarcely  appearing  surprised  or  disappointed. 

"  The  fellow  has  no  nerves  at  all,  no  sensitiveness,"  thought 
Alfred  Lowndes,  who  looked  for  an  outburst. 

"And  yourself — do  you  feel  amply  repaid  for  your 
trouble?" 

"Why — yes,"  in  slow  amaze. 

"Then  all  obligation  is  ended.  Remember  me  kindly  to 
your  sister." 

"You'll  drop  in  before  we  go?"  with  sudden  cordiality. 
"  My  sister  will  want  to  say  good-bye.  We  shall  leave  for  New 
York  in  about  a  fortnight." 

"If  it  is  possible." 

So  they  bade  each  other  farewell  in  a  courteous  manner. 
Victor's  self-control  never  relaxed  as  he  walked  down  the  street. 
He  understood  his  place  now  with  a  desperate,  wronged  feel 
ing.  And  yet  his  aim  had  been  good  and  high.  To  raise 
himself  to  the  level  of  refinement  and  culture  for  which  his 
soul  longed,  for  which  he  might  be  fitted  so  easily,  it  seemed 
to  him. 

But  there  he  was  in  the  gulf,  with  the  curse  of  manual 
labor  upon  him,  the  brand  of  a  slave.  Ah,  no  wonder  the 
old  Romans  were  proud  and  esteemed  their  blood  sacred. 
Society  said — because  this  man  holding  a  father's  place  read 
your  young  life  wrongly,  mistook  the  germs  of  a  noble 
ambition  for  foolish  pride,  and  stained  your  hands  with  toil, 
there  you  must  stay.  Norcross,  Baxter,  that  clean-blooded 
aristocrat  Gilliat,  and  even  these  narrow-brained  Lowndeses, 
concur  in  the  same  thing.  Stay  where  you  are,  no  matter  how 
distasteful  it  may  be.  Crush  out  those  aspirations — you  have 
no  business  with  them.  Money  and  leisure  only  can  afford 
them. 

He  took  the  pictures  up  to  his  room  and  thrust  them  into 


With  Fate  against  Him.  161 

an  old  chest  stored  with  rubbish.  Some  day  he  would  make  a 
bonfire  of  them,  but  he  was  too  sad  and  sore  now,  and  for  his 
mother's  sake  he  must  keep  brave.  But  he  said  that  evening — 

"Mr.  Lowndes  and  his  sister  are  going  abroad  next  month." 

Anah  Hurst  started  in  secret  dismay. 

"  He  has  been  very  successful  with  a  picture.  I  suppose  he 
has  genius.  It  is  making  itself  felt  and  appreciated." 

"And  you — ?"  with  a  kind  of  agonized  apprehension. 

"I  shall  rest  awhile." 

But  his  tone  could  not  deceive  her.  She  came  over  to  his 
side  and  placed  her  hand  nervously  upon  his  shoulder. 

"You  have  given  up  all,  Victor,"  with  a  faltering  strand  in 
the  sad  voice. 

"Not  all,  but  that.  Nay,"  taking  the  hand  with  which  she 
was  wont  to  shade  her  eyes  lest  the  tears  might  spring  too 
quickly,  "I  have  convinced  myself  that  I  had  no  gift  for  it. 
So  let  it  go." 

There  was  a  fierce  pang  at  her  heart,  a  thousand  tortures  in 
one,  keener  because  she  could  not  bear  them  all  for  her  child. 
And  with  it  a  touch  of  superstition — she  always  bethought 
herself  of  some  Scriptural  parallel,  and  now  the  plagues  of 
Pharaoh  floated  through  her  brain.  Was  it  because  she  did 
not  let  her  bondman  go  out  of  the  land  of  Egypt  ? 

Victor  felt  as  if  he  had  been  worsted  in  the  battle,  pushed 
to  the  wall  without  a  fair  chance.  In  the  depths  of  his 
soul  there  was  as  much  genius  as  in  Alfred  Lowndes'  narrow, 
conceited  brain.  But  if  he  could  not  give  it  a  voice  ? 

Was  there  nothing  for  a  man  to  do  in  the  world  except 
work  and  eat  ?  Why  had  he  been  born,  then,  with  this  rest 
less,  hungry  soul  ?  Did  God  give  these  higher  instincts  for 
some  wise  purpose,  not  manifest  in  his  case  ?  or  was  the 
whole  theory  some  far-fetched  interpretation  of  the  schoolmen 
to  keep  the  world  in  order  ?  since  in  the  case  of  poverty  they 
were  to  be  stamped  out,  or  considered  the  result  of  sickly 
sentimentalism. 


1 62  With  Fate  against  Him. 

The  men  who  did  not  understand  the  kind  of  battle  he  had 
been  fighting,  watched  him  with  suspicious  eyes,  resolving  at 
last  to  make  him  take  sides.  If  he  was  above  them,  let  him 
find  his  higher  level. 

Two  or  three  of  them  stopped  him  one  evening.  Connor 
was  spokesman. 

"Don't  b'long  to  the  Union,  Hurst?"  glancing  furtively 
from  under  the  shaggy  brows. 

"The  Union  ?"  vaguely. 

"Trades,  you  know." 

"No." 

Victor  Hurst  felt  that  there  was  a  radical  difference  between 
himself  and  this  man.  Would  he,  when  he  had  worked 
thirty  years,  be  that  stolid  and  blear-eyed  ? 

' '  What'll  you  do  about  it  ?  All  in  this  shop  are  on  the 
right  side.  There's  a  talk  of  cuttin'  down  wages." 

For  any  principle  involved,  Victor  Hurst  would  have  let 
them  go.  But  the  subject  of  wages  came  nearer  home.  If 
a  workman  had  no  right  to  raise  himself  in  the  social  scale, 
he  had  a  right  to  make  all  the  money  he  could. 

This  group  of  men  had  taken  what  they  termed  his  "airs" 
long  enough,  they  thought.  An  apprentice  onty'a  few  months 
ago,  why  should  he  put  on  a  dignity  and  stateliness  that  they 
would  hardly  have  tolerated  in  Baxter  ?  The  main  idea  was 
to  get  him  out  of  the  shop. 

Fate  had  sent  him  over  to  this  side  of  the  question,  which, 
like  many  important  matters,  was  -settled  more  by  existing 
circumstances  than  principle,  or  even  desire.  He  disliked 
everything  connected  with  this  sphere  of  life  as  strongly  as  on 
the  day  of  his  first  outbreak;  but  then  he  thought  he  had  only 
to  take  one  decisive  step  out  of  it, — now  he  saw  the  many 
fine,  strong  chains  that  bound  him  hand  and  foot. 

"I'm  on  the  side  of  the  wages,"  he  said,  briefly.  "If 
Unions  serve  to  keep  them  up — " 

"We'd  never  got  what  we  have  without  'em,"  one  of. the 


With  Fate  against  Him.  163 

group  made  answer.      "Every  man  oughter  stick  to  his  side, 
I  say." 

"And  my  side  is  the  trade,"  with  a  bitter,  derisive 
smile. 

The  men  glanced  at  each  other.  The  manner  was  not  cor 
dial,  but  the  matter,  if  it  went  for  them,  was  hardly  to  be 
disputed. 

"You're  on  the  trade's  side?"  cautiously,  eyeing  him  with  a 
furtive  gleam  of  suspicion. 

"  Yes  !"  with  a  sharp  ring  in  the  voice,  as  if  by  that  he  ham 
mered  some  delicate  longing  out  of  sight  into  a  thousand  frag 
ments.  "What  do  you  want  of  me?  Where  shall  I  join?" 

Connor  was  completely  taken  aback.  Not  being  able  to 
read  the  man's  soul  in  the  clear-cut,  scornful  face,  he  laid  his 
brawny  hand  on  Hurst's  shoulder. 

"Good  grit  at  the  last !"  in  sudden  admiration.  "  I've  been 
a  little  afeard  o'  you,  youngster.  Boys  now-a-days  take  such 
high  and  mighty  notions  in  their  heads ;  and  knowing  that  a 
little  of  the  parson's  blood  was  in  your  veins — " 

"  Parson  never  was  proud." 

1 '  No  matter  about  my  blood, "  with  a  bright,  scarlet  spot  on 
each  cheek,  and  a  quiver  of  the  lip  that  their  dull  eyes  could 
not  discern.  "If  .you  want  my  hand  on  the  union,  there 
it  is." 

He  had  been  thrust  over  the  narrow  boundary,  he  said  to 
himself,  and  fate  forced  him  into  the  step.  These  men 
always  made  a  great  outcry  about  their  wives  and  children 
starving.  He  had  a  helpless  father. 

"  Good  for  you,  Hurst.  I  wouldn't  hardly  a'  believed  it ;  and 
you  such  a  fine  gentleman,  like." 

Victor  experienced  a  qualm  of  disgust,  and  an  almost  irre 
pressible  desire  to  shake  off  the  contact  of  those  grimy  fingers 
Were  his  own  any  better  ? 

"When  and  where  do  you  hold  your  meeting?" 
"There'll  be  one  to-morrow  night— Croft's  Hall." 


1 64  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"  I  know  the  place.     I  will  be  there." 

The  men  stood  and  gazed  after  him  as  he  strode  down  the 
street. 

"You  didn't  get  him  out,  Connor,"  with  a  rather  irritating 
laugh. 

Connor  rubbed  his  eyes  in  amazement.  What  inexplicable 
change  had  come  over  trie  fellow  ? 

"  He's  a  chap  that's  hard  to  understand,"  shaking  his  head 
in  a  puzzled  manner.  "Now  I'd  a'  said  he'd  be  just  the  one 
to  flare  up  and  make  a  row.  He's  game,  though,  when  you 
come  to  that.  Carries  it  in  his  walk. " 

"And  tricky,  too,  maybe." 

"We'll  see." 

Opinion  ran  so  high  that  two  or  three  bets  were  made. 
Victor  settled  all  doubts  by  appearing  promptly,  paying  his 
initiation  fee,  and  subscribing  to  the  rules  and  regulations. 
Then  he  listened  to  a  lengthy  and  rather  disorderly  discussion 
upon  the  necessity  of  keeping  up  wages,  the  rights  of  workmen, 
and  a  kind  of  confused  jumble  that  he  could  not  render  at  all 
intelligible  to  his  senses  or  judgment.  One  thing  only  he  felt 
— he  was  committed  to  this  side,  and  if  he  ever  struck  any  blow, 
it  would  be  against  his  oppressor  as  well  as  theirs — the  tyrant 
wealth, — capital  they  termed  it. 

To  a  great,  hungry,  untrained  soul,  some  excitement  was 
necessary.  He  had  not  the  stimulus  of  intellectual  life,  and 
the  lower  estate  was  little  to  his  taste.  As  a  gentleman,  he 
might  have  luxuriated  upon  elegant  wines  ;  but  the  low  drink 
ing  and  gambling-saloons  were  abominations.  There  were 
reading-rooms  and  libraries,  one  on  the  religious  order,  which  he 
at  this  period  deliberately  eschewed.  He  had  not  made  up  his 
mind  fully  uppn  the  subject,  and  until  he  did,  with  the  un 
reason  of  youth,  he  would  not  allow  himself  to  be  biased  in 
its  favor.  It  was  well  enough,  perhaps,  and  yet,  wherein  had 
his  father  been  the  gainer  ?  Old,  helpless,  poor,  and  neglected, 
save  by  the  few  to  whom  he  had  endeared  himself  in  some 


With  Fate  against  Hint.  i65 

great  strait  like  that  of  death.     Where  was  the  love  and  tender 
ness  of  Christianity  ? 

It  is  so  easy  to  doubt — to  rail.  When  Victor  Hurst  began  to 
look  about  him  and  see  that  it  was  not  truth  which  always  suc 
ceeded,  but  rather  falsehood  ;  that  the  purple,  fine  linen,  and 
ease  often  passed  through  the  world  unscathed,  while  honest^, 
poverty  was  the  Lazarus  at  the  gate,  refused  even  the  crumbs  in 
many  instances,  despised,  and  thrust  out  to  perish  or  to  sin. 
And  then  came  the  appalling  fact  that  it  was  the  poor  who 
rilled  the  jails  and  almshouses,  the  poor  from  wretched  homes 
that  thronged  the  vile  resorts  and  drank  poisonous  liquors. 

There  were  older  and  wiser  men  who  beat  their  heads  against 
the  same  rock — wages.  Victor,  hearing  the  outcry,  joined  it 
with  an  intemperate  zeal.  But  here  were  all  the  statistics. 
Rents,  provision,  clothes,  were  high,  and  now,  in  the  winter, 
was  added  the  increased  price  of  fuel.  In  the  face  of  this, 
employers  talked  of  reducing  wages. 

There  was  another  side  to  the  story.  Of  improvidence 
Victor  Hurst  knew  but  little  :  Mrs.  Hurst  had  been  a  thrifty 
manager  all  her  life,  from  the  day  her  father  had  handed  his 
small  income,  that  ended  with  his  death,  over  into  her  keep 
ing.  She  had  managed  on  the  missionary's  scanty  salary,  and 
now  Victor's  money  was  expended  as  frugally.  But  there  had 
been  many  sacrifices  and  small  economies  that  those  with  fewer 
nice  instincts  would  have  been  hardly  willing  to  try.  The 
extravagant  Sunday  meal — the  poor  man's  holiday  feast ;  the 
frequent  sicknesses,  when  ignorant  mothers,  knowing  noth 
ing  concerning  the  bodies  they  had  given  their  children, 
ran  in  frantic  haste  for  the  nearest  doctor,  and  lavished  their 
husbands'  money  on  expensive  drugs  ;  the  general  careless 
management,  indolence,  and  waste,  could  hardly  be  taken  into 
account  by  so  young  and  inexperienced  a  philosopher.  He 
was  caught  by  the  old  cry — money,  education,  pleasant  and 
popular  places  of  resort,  more  leisure,  and  the  general  lifting 
up  of  this  lower  stratum  of  society. 


1 66  With  Fate  against  Him. 

That  there  are  many  wrongs,  one  must  admit.  But  while 
men  prefer  to  sip  bad  whiskey,  to  smoke  until  their  brains  are 
stupefied,  and  amuse  themselves  with  greasy  bits  of  painted 
pasteboard,  or  rehearse  coarse  stories,  while  opposite,  the  read 
ing-room  languishes,  it  is  not  merely  from  lack  of  opportunity, 
but  something  deeper  underlying  it  all,  that  not  money  alone 
can  cure.  If  men  and  women  in  high  places  ever  come  to 
understand  the  deeper  significance  of  the  Saviour's  new  com 
mandment  ;  but  hearts  grow  weary  after  a  trial  of  eighteen 
hundred  years. 

The  autumn  was  raw  and  cold,  with  frequent  storms,  and 
winter  set  in  early.  As  if  in  some  spirit  of  secret  unison  with 
the  depression  of  nature,  trade  began  to  languish,  and  with 
scarcity  of  work  came  the  dreaded  decrease  in  wages. 

But  the  Unions  in  Weareham  were  strong  and  powerful,  as 
in  the  most  of  purely  manufacturing  towns.  There  were 
strikes,  and  processions,  and  violent  harangues  in  halls  and 
market-places,  to  say  nothing  of  beer-shops,  always  the  loudest 
mouthed.  Idle  men  hung  at  the  corners,  thoughtful  men 
walked  slowly  about  studying  the  pavement  and  their  own 
apprehensions,  while  the  restless  and  discontented  added  their 
mite  to  the  general  dissatisfaction. 

Here,  as  in  many  other  places,  the  trades  had  conquered,  and 
were  thereby  strengthened  and  elated.  But  this  was  an  inaus 
picious  season.  Orders  were  falling  off,  employers  felt  the 
necessity  of  economy  and  retrenchment,  and,  as  usual,  began  it 
with  their  men. 

Oddly  enough,  Victor  Hurst  became  a  leader  in  the  disaf 
fection.  His  own  fancied  wrongs  still  rankled  in  his  soul, 
and  the  vengeful  determination-  to  strike  blow  for  blow  was 
strong  within  him.  One  and  another  had  found  his  place  for 
him  ;  so  he  would  take  it  now,  and  from  this  standing-point 
make  them  feel  the  power  of  the  man  they  were  so  ready  to 
discard  from  their  ranks. 

He  was  a  fluent  and  fiery  speaker,  the  thing  to  take  with 


With  Fate  against  Him.  167 

unreasoning  masses.  He  dealt  powerful  thrusts  right  and  left, 
exhorted  the  men  to  stand  to  their  principles,  to  resist  these 
high-handed  outrages  on  human  rights.  Let  the  rich  make 
sacrifices  as  well.  Did  they  give  up  their  horses  and  carriages, 
their  costly  dinners  and  expensive  wines,  their  balls  and  operas, 
their  elegant  houses,  and  silks  and  diamonds  ?  Rather  they 
ground  it  out  of  the  poor  man.  It  was  he  who  starved  and 
felt  the  pinching  blasts  beside  fireless  hearths.  It  was  his  wife 
and  children  who  went  clothed  in  rags,  while  the  others  flaunted 
in  satin  and  velvets. 

But  when  actual  starvation  came,  when  the  funds  of  associa 
tions  reached  the  lowest  ebb,  when  shops  were  closed  and 
employers  still  stood  firm,  some  of  these  men  with  wives  and 
children  studied  over  the  old  adage,  and  began  to  think  "half 
a  loaf  better  than  none."  Capital  had  the  advantage  this  time, 
and  labor  crouched  for  the  next  blow,  when  its  stomach  was 
fuller. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

So  one  night  Victor  Hurst  sat  by  the  fire,  a  beaten,  misera 
ble,  discouraged  man.  All  his  fine  philosophies  about  raising 
his  brethren  had  come  to  an  ignoble  end. 

Worse  than  that  for  him.  When  Norcoss  opened  his  works 
again,  in  the  latter  part  of  January,  he  said  to  his  foreman, 
throwing  down  a  printed  list — 

"There  are  the  prices  of  this  place.  If  any  man  chooses  to 
work  for  that,  I'll  take  him  on  ;  and  I  guess  some  will  be 
starved  to  it.  Any  how,  there  are  a  few  new  hands  from  the 
neighboring  towns  to  begin  with.  They  will  find  that  we  are 
not  to  be  overruled  by  their  cheap  and  noisy  fustian.  But 
there  are  several  exceptions.  Powers,  Hurst,  and  Connor,  I 
won't  have  at  any  price.  They'll  find  the  town  too  hot  to  hold 
them,  I'm  thinking.  A  bad  lot !  I  expected  better  things  of 
Hurst." 

"He  always  was  a  queer  fellow,"  replied  the  foreman, 
gravely;  "though  the  last  one  I  should  have  said  to  take 
sides  with  such  men  as  Connor." 

"Tainted  with  French  socialism.  Those  fellows  ought  to 
found  a  community,  eh,  Baxter?  and  have  all  things  in  com 
mon.  Poor  devils  !  Do  they  think  that  they  can  pull  down 
social  fabrics  which  existed  before  they  were  born,  and  will  stand 
until  the  world  is  old  and  gray  ?" 

Mr.  Norcross  gave  a  hearty,  cheery  laugh.  He  was  well 
pleased  at  belonging  to  the  victorious  side.  And  though  he 
had  groaned  a  good  deal  about  ruin,  he  still  wore  his  elegant 
diamond  pin,  kept  his  fast  horses,  ate  good  dinners,  and 
smoked  expensive  cigars. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  169 

"You'll  take  back  the  others?" 

"Yes.  It  is  only  the  ringleaders.  We  have  resolved  to 
extinguish  them,"  with  a  pompous  inflection  on  the  "We," 
that  spoke  volumes. 

"It  is  a  pity  that  men  have  so  little  sense.  They  were  all 
good  workmen." 

"They  have  had  their  frolic,  now  let  them  pay  the  piper." 

The  leaders  found  themselves  marked  men.  A  few  left  the 
town,  breathing  threats  of  vengeance.  Connor,  an  unsteady 
man  at  the  best,  hung  around  low  groggeries,  while  his  wife 
went  out  washing  and  his  children  to  the  factories;  but  Victor 
Hurst  had  as  yet  taken  no  decisive  step. 

Going  away  seemed  almost  impossible  ;  for  when  it  came  to 
that,  a  strong  man  was  needed  in  the  house.  John  Hurst  was 
better,  and  might  live  years ;  but  he  had  to  be  carried  to 
and  fro  like  a  child.  It  was  hardly  possible  for  him  ever  to 
recover  the  use  of  his  lower  limbs,  and  a  slender  woman  like 
Anah  could  not  manage  him. 

They  had  been  poor  many  a  time  before.  The  prayer  for 
daily  bread  proved  no  fanciful  petition  to  the  open-handed, 
self-denying  clergyman.  But  there  had  always  been  a  hope 
of  something,  a  clinging  to  the  provision  made  for  the  ravens 
when  they  cry,  to  the  all-enduring  promises  of  God  ;  yet  with 
her  morbid  conscientiousness  she  hardly  knew  whether  to  pray 
or  to  accept  meekly  and  silently  the  punishment  for  sin. 

She  sat,  knitting.  It  was  her  fancy  never  to  be  unemployed. 
But  as  she  went  through  the  continuous  round  of  stitches,  she 
watched  her  moody  and  dispirited  son. 

It  seemed,  somehow,  as  if  she  was  answerable  for  the  wreck 
of  his  life.  She  had  failed  in  some  important  duty  or  trust  : 
been  weak,  when  she  should  have  been  firm.  With  the  capa 
bility  of  self-torture,  found  in  so  many  women,  she  invented 
rack  and  scourge  in  endless  questioning,  and  submitted 
patiently  to  the  pain. 

"  Will  you  go  this  evening?"  she  asked,  at  length,  in  a  slow, 
8 


170  With  Fate  against  Him. 

hesitating   tone,   stirring  the  fire,   glad  to  break  the  monot 
ony  of  the  last  half-hour. 

"I  don't  think  I  can,  mother,"  in  an  unsteady  tone,  twitch 
ing  nervously  at  his  steel  watch-chain. 

"Victor — "her  tone  was  lower  and  slower,  "I  spent  our 
last  dollar  to-day." 

"I  cannot  beg — of  them.  They  would  preach  me  a  sermon 
and  send  me  away  empty-handed." 

"It  is  a  just  debt;"  a  rising  color  fluttering  over  her  pale 
face.  ' '  The  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire.  I  always  believed 
that." 

"  But  he  doesn't  get  it — in  spiritual  any  more  than  in  carnal 
matters.  It  is  the  princes  who  feast  and  the  laborers  who 
starve,  the  world  over.  I  wonder  if  there  is  a  God  to  watch  it 
all  ?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  imploringly. 

"  Here  is  my  father,  who,  like  some  of  the  men  of  old,  gave 
up  everything  for  his  religion.  Has  God  restored  tenfold? 
Even  his  brethren  conspire  to  wrong  him  out  of  a  paltry  sum 
that  was  earned  by  the  hardest — " 

"  No,  you  misjudge  them.  It  has  been  neglect  only.  I  dare 
say  they  think  it  is  all  paid." 

"They  have  had  opportunities  to  go  over  their  books  in  the 
course  of  the  last  eight  months,  one  would  imagine." 

"They  sent  part,  you  know  ;"  in  a  voice  of  gentle  excuse. 

It  was  the  old  question  of  the  salary  that  had  never  been 
wholly  paid. 

"No,"  he  said,  crushing  down  some  rising  bitterness,  "I 
can't  ask  them  for  it,  I'd  rather  starve.  But  for  you  and  him — " 

"It  is  his  just  due." 

"Well,  I'm  in  bad  repute  here,  at  Weareham.  I've  been 
thinking  that  I  shall  have  to  go  after  all.  Ever}'  shop  is  barred 
against  me.  I  can  get  work  elsewhere,  I  know  ;  and  if  a  good 
strong  woman  could  be  found — " 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  window.     It  was  dark  and  lower- 


Wit /i  Fate  against  Him.  171 

ing  without  :  not  a  star  visible,  and  bitter  blasts  moaning  up 
and  down,  like  forlorn  ghosts.  If  she  dared  to  go  over  to  the 
trustee-meeting  and  ask  for  this  pittance — fifty  odd  dollars — it 
would  keep  them  a  month  longer,  give  her  her  son  that  while, 
and  something  might  happen. 

But  it  was  a  long,  lonesome  walk,  and  suddenly  she  felt 
weak  as  if  deserted  by  both  God  and  man. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on  huskily,  "we  may  as  well  look  the 
matter  in  the  face.  The  luck  is  all  against  me  here.  I  will 
go  somewhere  and  take  a  fresh  start  at  anything  that  offers.  I 
will  not  set  up  for  a  genius  or  a  philanthropist,"  with  a  fierce, 
scornful  smile  that  was  very  sad  in  its  desperation.  "I'll  make 
a  new  home  and  come  for  you  then,  for  I  shall  never,  never 
part  with  you." 

She  came  back  to  the  fire,  and  standing  behind  him,  clasped 
her  arms  around  his  neck.  "God  help  me  to  give  up  this 
idol,"  she  prayed  inwardly,  "this  sin  of  Achan  in  the  camp." 

"As  you  will,"  she  returned,  humbly. 

"  It  will  not  be  for  long — ''  hopefully. 

And  yet  he  knew  that  business  was  dull  everywhere,  and 
that  a  stranger's  chance  was  a  slender  one  at  best. 

"  I  will  see  that  you  have  credit  while  I  am  gone.  And  if 
some  one  could  help  you  care  for  him  until — " 

He  felt  the  tear  dropping  on  his  cheek.  With  that  he  drew 
the  head  down  and  kissed  the  wet  eyelids,  and  for  many  mo 
ments  neither  spoke. 

For  their  lives  had  come  to  such  a  dreary,  desperate  pass. 
He  desiring  to  do  the  best  had  fallen  upon  the  worst ;  and  yet 
had  there  not  been  foul  selfishness  within  ? 

The  wind  swept  up  without  in  broad  gusts.  Even  the  fire 
seemed  to  burn  dully. 

They  paid  little  heed  to  the  carriage  going  past  over  the 
frozen  ground,  making  hollow  echoes,  nor  even  noticed  that 
the  h'orses  were  stopped,  and  voices  raised  rather  high  in  con 
versation. 


172  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Then  some  one  strode  up  the  path,  and  feet  were  vigorously 
stamped  on  the  stone  beyond  the  porch — a  habit  with  Janet 
McRae,  and  not  any  disdainful  shaking  off  of  the  dust. 

Anah  Hurst  started,  wiped  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of  her 
apron,  and  trembled  at  the  authoritative  knock.  Victor  an 
swered  it,  leaving  his  mother  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor. 

"Does  the  Reverend  John  Hurst  reside  here?" 

The  tone  was  so  fresh  and  breezy,  that  it  was  like  a  waft  of 
some  inspiriting  mountain  air. 

' '  Yes ;"  and  Victor  ushered  in  two  persons,  tall  and  well 
enveloped  in  winter  travelling-gear,  but  faces  that  he  had  never 
seen  before. 

"And  is  this  Anah  Hurst ?  I  think  I  should  know  the  face, 
although  you're  worn  and  thin.  But  you've  forgotten  me — 
Janet  McRae.  I  was  at  your  father's  house  once  before  you 
were  married." 

Three  and  twenty  years  ago.  She  remembered  now — some 
distant  cousins. 

"  And  this  is  my  friend — Doctor  Trewartha." 

Anah  Hurst  blushed  and  stammered  in  her  amazement,  like 
any  girl. 

"I  suppose  it  is  a  great  surprise.  No  doubt  I  ought  to 
have  come  long  ago  ;  but  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  a  little  vexed 
with  your  father  the  last  time  I  saw  him.  I  was  quite  willing 
to  take  you  ;  for,  if  you  remember,  Sandy  and  I  never  had  any 
children,  but  your  father  kept  up  a  stubborn  old  feud  with  our 
branch  of  the  McRaes.  A  whimsical  old  fellow,  with  nothing 
Scotch  about  him  save  that.  And  so  I've  come  at  last,  after 
discouragements  that  would  have  daunted  any  other  woman. 
A  few  miles  below  the  town  there  must  be  a  misplaced  switch, 
and  from  its  effects  we  stood  on  the  road  good  two  hours, 
"waiting  for  them  to  clear  away  the  debris." 

She  paused  then  to  take  breath.  Victor  glanced  at  her  in 
astonishment.  A  woman  past  sixty,  but  with  a  fresh,  fair  look, 


With  Fate  against  Him.  173 

as  if  she  would  never  be  quite  done  with  youth.  Nearly  as  tall 
as  her  companion,  but  erect  as  any  stately  pine  :  her  blue  eyes 
still  sharp  and  bright,  her  face  unwrinkled,  the  mouth  shutting 
firmly  over  sound  white  teeth,  the  lips  full  and  rosy.  Not  a 
particularly  handsome  woman,  with  the  large  features,  square 
jaw,  and  high  cheek-bones  ;  but  remarkable  for  her  vigor, 
wholesomeness,  and  buoyant  energy. 

"Yes,  you  were  married,  and  your  father  died.  I  heard  of 
that,"  nodding  her  head  and  approaching  the  fire  where  Victor 
had  placed  two  chairs.  "You've  gone  your  way  and  I've  gone 
mine  ;  but  I  think  it  would  have  been  better  if  your  father  had 
listened  to  me  ;"  sharply,  holding  her  head  loftily  as  she  sat 
down. 

"  Well,  we  are  the  last  of  the  family  now,  so  it  is  best  to  let 
by-gones  be  by-gones.  I  am  an  old  woman,  and  you  are  not 
as  young  as  you  were  twenty  years  ago.  This  is  your  son  ?" 

"This  is  my  son — Victor." 

In  spite  of  all  she  had  to  remember,  she  uttered  the  words 
with  a  little  pride. 

"I  have  had  no  children."  And  Anah  Hurst  guessed  the 
pain  that  came  in  the  strong  woman's  heart.  "Perhaps  it  is 
as  well.  They  bring  care  and  trouble  from  the  hour  of  their 
birth.  There's  not  much  of  the  old  blood  in  him — you  and 
your  father  were  famous  for  mixing  it.  I  should  say  there  was 
more  Saxon  than  Scotch  about  him  ;  but  he  is  a  fine,  well- 
grown  lad.  I  need  hardly  tell  you,  Doctor  Trewartha,  after 
having  been  so  remiss,  that  this  is  Mrs.  Hurst  and  her  son." 

Trewartha  rubbed  his  hands  together  in  the  glow  of  the  fire 
light.  A  manly  man,  strong,  healthy,  heartsome,  with  none 
of  the  city  nervousness  and  anxiety  about  him — a  man  used  to 
good  cheer  and  generous  thoughts.  The  evident  air  of  pros 
perity  struck  Victor  in  a  very  vivid  fashion. 

Janet  McRae  must  needs  tell  all  her  own  story  first. 

"  So  I  asked  Doctor  Trewartha,  who  is  my  right-hand  man 
— for  Mr.  McRae  died  fifteen  years  ago,  as  you  heard,  doubt- 


1 74  With  Fate  against  Him. 

less,  at  the  time  ;  you  were  living  at  Northfield  then — to  come 
and  help  me  hunt  you  up,  being  the  last  of  k'"  We  should 
have  been  here  by  mid-afternoon  but  for  the  mishaps  on  the 
road.  I  dare  say  you  are  much  surprised  ;  but  when  I  take  a 
•whim  in  my  head  I  follow  it  out,  sharp.  I  never  yet  saw  the 
use  of  sitting  a  month  or  two  in  private  contemplation  as  to 
which  foot  you  should  put  forward  first.  And  now,  Anah  Hurst, 
if  you're  satisfied  to  take  up  acquaintance  with  an  old  kins 
woman,  give  me  your  hand." 

Anah  responded  gratefully.  The  strength  and  cheerful 
voice  seemed  to  revivify  her. 

"A  very  bird's  claw,"  she  said,  pressing  the  thin  fingers. 
"You  need  mountain  air,  and  good,  wholesome  food.  You've 
been  in  trouble,  I  hear  ?"  dropping  her  voice  a  trifle. 

Anah  Hurst  had  a  vague,  confused  feeling,  like  some  shy, 
prisoned  creature,  whose  cage-doors  are  opened,  and  who  sees 
endless  vistas  of  green  fields  beyond. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  sigh,  turning  her  eyes  away 
from  the  too  glowing  vision. 

"Mr.  Hurst  is  still  alive?" 

"A  little  better,  we  think." 

"His  attack  was  paralysis  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Over- work  and  meagre  diet,  I  suppose.  Clergymen  have 
no  right  to  be  poor !"  in  a  vigorous,  almost  scornful  tone. 

"If  the  world  makes  them  so?"  And  Victor  Hurst  turned 
his  clear-cut  face  around  suddenly. 

"Being  poor,  they  have  no  business  with  preaching  and  the 
like.  The  world  has  too  much  of  it  already.  People  want 
work  and  bread  instead  of  sermons." 

"But  they  die  at  last,"  said  Doctor  Trewartha. 

"Yes,  I  know!"  with  a  fierce  nod.  "But  T  doubt  the 
death-bed  glorifying  when  a  man  has  been  a  thief,  and  a  liar, 
and  a  drunkard.  They  need  to  be  taught  how  to  live,  how  to 
take  care  of  their  souls  and  bodies.  God  will  watch  over  the  rest." 


With  Fate  against  Him.  176 

Trewartha  drew  his  chair  nearer  Victor  when  he  saw  the 
young  man's  ^nitted  brow.  It  would  not  do  to  have  a  quarrel 
in  the  very  beginning  ;  and  knowing  Janet  McRae  so  well,  he 
was  anxious  that  these  people  should  be  better  acquainted  with 
her  before  they  judged. 

"  How  long  has  your  father  been  ill  ?"  he  asked. 

"Eight  months,"  briefly. 

"There  has  been  some  change,  of  course  ?" 

"Yes." 

' '  What  were  the  particulars  of  the  first  seizure  ?" 

Victor  began  to  think,  and  the  talk  of  the  woman  floated  out 
of  his  brain.  Something  in  Trewartha  interested  him  strangely. 

Mrs.  McRae  plied  Anah  with  questions.  She  had  heard  that 
Mr.  Hurst  was  quite  well-to-do  before  he  took  up  preaching — 
for  many  years  she  had  lost  sight  of  them  altogether.  Where 
had  they  lived  ?  what  had  they  done  ? 

Anah  made  her  story  as  short  as  possible.  She  was  a 
reticent  woman  by  nature,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  the 
old  pride  left  in  her,  in  spite  of  the  daily  warfare.  After  all, 
how  much  does  religion  change  human  nature? 

"  You've  had  only  the  one  child  ?"  drawing  her  chair  nearer 
to  Anah,  and  speaking  in  a  low  tone. 

"That  is  all." 

"And  you  have  known  little  about  managing  him,  I  take  it. 
I  saw  his  name  in  the  Trades'  riots,"  dropping  her  voice  to  a 
whisper.  "As  if  bread  wasn't  more  to  starving  men  than  all 
your  fine  speeches  and  principles." 

"He  went  astray,"  Anah  said,  with  a  face  of  deepening 
pain. 

"  He  knew  nothing  of  the  business,  of  the  rights  and 
wrongs,"  she  returned,  sharply.  "And  yet  he  showed  spirit, 
energy.  He  is  in  the  wrong  place,  Anah  Hurst." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  piteously. 

"  It  was  the  old  war  upon  wind-mills.  Men  never  learn 
anything  by  experience — women  either,  for  that  matter.  When 


176  With  Fate  against  Him. 

times  are  dull  wages  will  be  low.  The  law  of  supply  and 
demand  regulates  these  things.  So  it  was  foolhardy  in  him  to 
lead  a  movement  at  that  time.  But  he  doesn't  look  as  if — he 
belonged  to  the  rabble.  Is  it  the  Hurst  blood  ?" 

Anah  flushed  distressfully. 

"  We'll  talk  it  all  over  some  day.  I  have  a  good  deal  to  say 
to  you,  and  I  know  that  I  have  dropped  down  upon  you  most 
unceremoniously.  But  I  declared  this  morning  that  I  wouldn't 
rest  until  I'd  seen  you,  and  I  would  take  as  much  pains  to 
keep  truth  with  myself  as  any  other  person.  Then  I  cannot 
bear  to  be  crossed  and  thwarted  by  puny  mischances.  I  shall 
rest  the  more  soundly  for  my  ride  out  here.  Doctor  Tre 
wartha,  how  nearly  up  is  our  time  ?" 

Trewartha  pulled  out  his  watch,  a  solid,  old-fashioned,  gold 
repeater,  with  a  massive  chain,  plain  as  a  cable-cord. 

"Fifteen  minutes.   You  told  the  man  to  come  in  an  hour?" 

"Yes." 

"I  would  ask  you  to  see  my  husband,"  Mrs.  Hurst  said  slowly 
"  but  he  sleeps  soundly  the  first  part  of  the  night.  Still — " 

"No,  wait  until  to-morrow,"  interrupted  Mrs.  McRae. 
"We  shall  come  again.  Doctor  Trewartha  has  his- head  full 
of  quips  and  quirks  about  diseases.  Most  of  all,  you  want 
to  get  out  of  this  place.  There's  nothing  like  mountain  air 
for  the  bodies  and  souls  of  men.  I'm  glad  to  have  found  you 
before  it  was  too  late." 

"I  should  like  to  see  your  husband.  From  what  your  son 
has  told  me,  I  should  think  his  case  peculiar,  to  say  the  least. 
And  if  I  could  be  of  any  service — " 

"Thank  you,"  Mrs.  Hurst  murmured. 

The  four  rose  and  stood  in  a  group,  making  a  picture  of 
striking  contrasts.  Victor  felt  it  keenly.  A  question  of  wealth, 
merely.  But  the  ease  and  grace  and  air  of  superiority  was 
theirs.  Poverty  was  a  cloud  upon  his  mother's  refinement:  it  had 
taken  the  bright  red  blood  out  of  her  veins,  the  roundness 
from  her  figure,  the  happy,  satisfied  smile  from  her  face.  What 


With  Fate  against  Him.  r;7 

if  John  Hurst  had  let  those  poor  souls  down  yonder  go  whither 
they  would,  and  thought  more  of  his  own  comfort  ? 

"So  I  shall  come  in  again  to-morrow,"  Mrs.  McRae  began 
to  repeat.  "You  will  be  better  able  to  judge  then  how' far 
you  care  to  take  up  acquaintance  with  an  old  kinswoman. 
That  is  the  carriage,  Doctor  Trewartha. " 

They  all  heard  the  rattle  of  the  wheels.  Mrs.  McRae  retied 
her  bonnet-strings ;  drew  her  thick,  soft  fur  mantle  about 
her  throat ;  and  then  half  crushed  Anah  Hurst's  thin  hand  in 
hers  so  firm  and  warm  ;  and  smiled  on  her  in  a  cordial  fashion 
that  was  absolutely  fascinating.  This  life  had  been  so  full  and 
generous  :  hers  so  meagre  and  bald. 

"Good-night,  friends.  It  is  not  a  good-by  until  you  decree 
that  our  ways  lie  separate." 

The  long  ray  of  light  from  the  half-curtained  window  was 
all  that  broke  the  dead  blankness  outside.  How  bitterly  cold 
and  drear  it  was  !  Yet  Trewartha's  tone  almost  made  a  spring 
dawn  of  it. 

Anah  Hurst  opened  the  hand  that  ached  with  the  pressure 
so  recently  given  it,  and  began  to  straighten  out  something — 
a  fifty  dollar  note. 

"Charity  1"  Victor  said,  in  a  great  and  unreasonable  tumult 
of  soul. 

"  It  is  the  Lord  ;"  and  she  bowed  her  head  reverently. 

But  Victor  saw  no  God  in  the  hand. 

A  hard,  dogmatic,  purse-proud  woman,  who  had  hunted 
up  some  needy  relatives  to  swell  the  list  of  her  worshippers,  and 
add  to  the  insense  on  the  shrine  of  her  self-love. 

"  HE  has  answered  my  prayer  at  last,  and  raised  up  friends 
in  our  need,"  she  went  on,  in  a  low,  grateful  tone,  that  was 
thanksgiving  in  itself. 

Victor  looked  at  the  saint-like  face.  How  much  she  had 
borne,  and  how  meekly.  Was  there,  of  a  truth,  an  under 
current  that  he  knew  nothing  about — that  sometimes  saw  God 
face  to  face  ? 

8* 


178  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"I  was  not  aware  that  you  had  any  connections  living," 
he  said,  presently. 

"I  knew  not  whether  they  were  living  or  dead.  I  remem 
ber  that  Mrs.  McRae  came  to  our  house  once,  sometime 
before  my  father  died,  and  that  the  two  had  a  dispute, 
parting  bad  friends.  My  father  was  hot  and  unreasonable 
when  roused.  They  were  distant  cousins,  and  she  married 
one  of  the  relatives.  The  family  never  was  large." 

"But  rich,"  Victor  said,  in  a  half-repressed  contempt. 

"They  were  thrifty,  hard-working  people  ;"  and  she  sighed  a 
little.  Her  father  had  never  troubled  himself  about  the  small 
details  of  economy  or  management  in  any  shape. 

"  I  like  Doctor  Trewartha.     Can  he  be  a  relative?" 

"I  hardly  think  so."  Then  she  turned  and  studied  her 
son's  face. 

"Victor,"  she  began  again,  falteringly,  "whatever  good 
or  pleasure  may  come  out  of  this  visit, — whatever  friendship 
may  be  proffered,  do  not  refuse.  For  what  Janet  McRae  gives 
she  gives  ungrudgingly." 

She  looked  so  worn  and  weary,  so  tired  with  the  buffetings 
of  many  storms,  that  his  heart  was  moved  with  infinite  pity. 

"  Mother,"  he  cried,  thrusting  down  a  great  wave  of  passion 
that  in  another  soul  might  have  made  tears,  "God  knows  that 
I  have  brought  you  pain  enough  following  my  own  devices. 
I  have  never  been  the  comfort  that  a  son  should  be.  I  thought 
myself  so  much  wiser  than  he"  nodding  to  the  closed  room 
beyond,  "and  went  to  meddling  with  souls  as  well  as  bodies, 
and  have  failed  miserably.  Nothing  that  I  ever  touched  pros 
pered.  And  since  I  have  shown  myself  so  weak,  so  easily  led 
astray,  I  will  take  the  destiny  of  no  other  human  creature  in 
my  hands.  If  Janet  McRae  chooses  to  befriend  you  and  my 
father,  no  word  of  mine  shall  anger  or  frustrate  good  inten 
tions.  Let  her  come  as  she  will.  I  have  dragged  you  nearly 
to  starvation." 

She  noticed  that  he  left  himself  out.     Yes,  he  would  be  too 


With  Fate  against  Him.  179 

proud  to  live  on  Mrs.  McRae's  money,  if  it  ever  came  to  that ; 
and  somehow  the  cordial  clasps  of  the  hand  had  meant  a  good 
deal  to  her,  gone  to  the  depths  of  her  soul.  It  would  be  as 
well,  perhaps,  for  him  to  carve  out  his  own  fortune — if  he 
could  ever  find  the  right  place. 

"We  all  make  mistakes  ;"  with  pathetic  submission. 

"  But  mine  was  such  a  senseless  blunder.  And  yet  I  think  I 
had  a  little  right  on  my  side,  at  all  events.  I  was  true  to  my 
order  at  last ;"  with  a  kind  of  scornful  pity. 

Was  it  his  order?  John  Hurst,  in  the  narrowness  of  human 
wisdom,  had  put  him  there,  but  the  soul  would  go  on  strug 
gling  and  beating  the  bars  until  it  found  liberty  and  space  to 
cleave  the  air  with  its  wings. 

All  she  could  do  was  to  pray,  for  she  had  returned  to  the 
God-given  centre  of  faith  after  all  her  wanderings  and  unbelief. 
God  would  send  the  right  in  His  own  good  time. 

Meanwhile  Doctor  Trewartha  pulled  the  lap-robe  over  his 
companion's  feet,  although  the  coach  was  closed.  She  settled 
herself  with  her  strong,  independent  air,  and  looked  quite  a 
queen  in  the  dim  light  of  the  lamp. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "are  you  satisfied  ?"  And  there  was  a  quiet 
curl  of  amusement  around  the  bearded  mouth. 

"If  I  had  expected  to  regret  it  I  should  not  have  come." 

"There  is  quite  a  space  between  satisfaction  and  regret;" 
gravely,  still  smiling.  "And  first  impressions  sway  you." 

"Which  matters  little,  since  they  do  not  need  to  be  of 
unalloyed  pleasure.  But  you  are  never  satisfied,  Doctor 
Trewartha,  until  one  is  turned  inside  out  for  your  delectation. 
Well,  Anah  Hurst  is  a  good  deal  changed  ;  has  become  a  weak, 
religious  enthusiast,  which  is  just  so  much  better  than  a  strong 
one.  She  needs  fresh  air,  generous  food,  walks  and  rides,  and 
some  society  of  the  right  kind,  to  give  her  moral  strength  and 
largeness  of  purpose  and  idea.  I  never  did  fancy  women  fed 
exclusively  on  a  diet  of  sermons." 

"Unless  you  had  to  preach  them  yourself." 


180  With  Fate  against  Him. 

She  laughed  this  time  ;  she  was  used  to  his  sharp  thrusts. 

"Yes,  I  like  my  own  preaching.  It  is  a  weakness  of  human 
nature, — I  cling  to  a  few  in  order  to  keep  myself  womanly." 

"And  the  young  man — ?"  when  she  had  made  a  long 
pause. 

"The  face  is  too  handsome.  It  brought  up  a  shadowy 
something  that  eludes  my  memory  ;  but  there  is  passion  and 
ambition  in  it,  a  strong  side  of  feeling  and  but  half-grown 
brain,  or  he  wouldn't  have  thrown  himself  into  that  gulf  yon 
der,  poor  fool !  He's  been  fed  on  a  mush  of  transcenden 
talism,  and  rights,  and  wrongs,  until  he  hardly  knows  where 
he  stands,  and  yet  he  has  the  face  of  an  aristocrat.  It's  the 
contradiction  I  like,"  growing  vehement;  "the  weak  side 
of  inconsistency,  the  rapid  moods  travelling  from  heaven  to  hell 
in  a  moment  of  space,  and  the  mouth  that  shuts  in  hopes, 
aims,  and  desires,  like  a  vice.  He  would  never  utter  weak, 
blatant  cries  when  fate  had  him  at  her  worst." 

"You  have  been  studying  him  pretty  well,"  said  the  Doctor 
in  some  surprise. 

"My  eyes  were  for  him,  my  ears  for  his  mother.  And, 
Frank  Trewartha,  I  mean  to  take  them  home  with  me.  If  he 
suits  me  on  farther  acquaintance,  I  shall  make  him  heir  of 
Cragness.  I'd  like  to  go  to  my  grave  with  the  thought  of 
a  McRae  reigning  after  me.  Though  he  has  but  little  of  the 
blood — there  never  was  a  handsome  one  in  the  whole  race.  I 
mean  that  he  shall  have  the  name,  however. " 

Doctor  Trewartha  sat  and  mused.  "She  should  have  had 
a  son,"  he  said  to  himself. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  morning  came  in  with  a  storm  :  a  dreary  leaden  sky 
and  a  bitter  wind  scurrying  the  pellets  of  snow  about  and  drift 
ing  them  into  nooks  and  crannies,  corners  of  stoops,  and  the 
ground  edge  of  fences.  Anah  Hurst  tidied  up  her  simple 
room,  bathed  her  husband's  face  and  hands,  and  put  on  his 
gray  woollen  dressing-gown.  Victor  lifted  him  into  the  arm 
chair  and  dragged  him  in  front  of  the  fire. 

There  was  something  in  the  wasted  and  melancholy  figure 
and  the  indescribable  pathos  of  the  eyes  that  touched  Victor 
singularly  this  morning,  especially  as  they  followed  him  round 
with  that  haunting,  longing  look.  You  could  see  that  the 
brain  had  gone  a  little  astray,  in  the  effort  he  made  to  think, 
to  recover  his  own  identity  and  that  of  those  around  him,  or 
perhaps  some  subtle  sense  of  the  secret  he  considered  his, 
and  felt  that  he  must  still  hide.  A  wandering,  wavering  light, 
unsubstantial  as  dreams,  and  a  childish  longing  for  the  love 
he  had  deemed  it  his  duty  to  thrust  aside,  when  the  march  oi 
life  was  hurried.  Heaven  knows  it  was  slow  enough  now. 

"Are  you  going  away?"  reaching  out  the  hand  that  shook 
visibly,  something  beyond  a  mere  nervous  tremble. 

"I  was  not." 

He  came  a  little  nearer  and  took  the  wasted  fingers  in  his, 
tried  to  smile  soothingly  into  the  apprehensive  eyes. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  ;"  in  a  vague  way,  as  if  trying  to 
remember.  "We  should  be  all  alone,  Victor,  two  poor  old 
people.  I  used  to  think — if  God  ever  gave  me  a  son — it 
vanishes  so  fast,  like  the  light  playing  over  the  water.  I  meant 
to  do  the  best.  You  were  a  pretty  little  boy,  Victor — I  used  to 


1 82  With  Fate  against  Him. 

carry  you  in  my  arms  to  church  when  your  hair  was  like  threads 
of  gold.  What  is  it  ? — a  sword  to  pierce  through  thine  own 
heart !  She  loved  you  so  well,  better  than  God,  I  was  afraid, 
and  after  her  prayers  she  used  to  go  and  kiss  you  in  the  cradle. 
Sometimea  in  the  night  I  would  miss  her,  and  I  could  see  her 
standing  there  like  a  white  phantom.  God  forbade  idols,  you 
know." 

Anah  knelt  down  and  leaned  her  cheek  against  her  husband's 
knee.  Perhaps  the  poor  old  man  had  fought  a  jealous  demon 
in  his  own  heart  as  well. 

"There  are  no  idols,"  she  said,  in  her  sweet,  clear  voice. 
"God  bade  us  love  and  comfort  one  another.  If  He  gave 
Himself  for  the  world,  ought  not  we  to  give  ourselves  to  love 
and  good  works  for  His  sake  ?" 

"I  wanted  him  saved  ;"  his  long  lids  dropping  dreamily. 
"  It  would  have  been  so  hard  for  her  not  to  find  her  little  boy 
in  heaven.  Could  any  one  have  comforted  her  ?" 

Victor  turned  his  eyes  to  his  mother's,  dimly  understanding 
what  temporal  or  spiritual  loss  would  be  to  her. 

"I've  made  many  mistakes;  I  couldn't  always  see  the  way 
clearly.  But  you  will  not  be  hard  with  me,  Victor  ?  God  knows, 
sometimes  we  get  astray  on  paths  not  His." 

The  restless,  nervous  fingers  began  to  pick  at  the  hem  of  his 
gown,  and  the  words  fell  more  slowly  and  incoherently.  He 
often  talked  to  himself  by  the  hour,  sitting  in  the  ruin  of  his 
own  mind,  waiting  for  the  time  when  he  should  be  "clothed 
upon"  with  immortality.  Why  had  God  sent  this  upon  him, 
his  own  faithful  servant  ? 

"You  won't  leave  me,  Victor?  It  will  not  be  long,  I 
think." 

"I  shall  not  leave  you  ;"  clearly,  and  with  a  solemn  awe  in 
his  voice.  Death  seemed  so  near,  death  which  was  to  unravel 
the  tangle  of  the  three  lives. 

The  stamping  of  feet  on  the  door-step  roused  Anah  Hurst. 
She  knew  to  whom  the  stir  must  belong. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  183 

"They  have  come  !"  in  her  woman's  consternation,  as  if  she 
would  fain  have  shut  them  out. 

But  when  they  had  entered  and  brought  the  buoyant  life, 
the  sense  of  energy  and  strength  that  a  vigorous  healthy  tempera 
ment  always  imparts,  Anah  felt  like  clinging  to  them,  strangers 
though  they  were.  Janet  McRae,  with  her  imperious  grace 
and  magnetic  vitality,  seemed  to  draw  her  by  some  occult 
charm,  in  spite  of  the  sharp  tongue. 

"I  said  I  would  come,  you  know,  and  here  I  am.  A 
McRae  would  sooner  go  to  his  death,  I  believe,  than  break 
his  word,  even  in  a  trifle.  Trewartha  here  has  scolded  me 
soundly  for  bolting  down  upon  you  last  night.  You  slept 
well,  I  hope?" 

Anah  smiled.   The  voice  was  so  warm,  cheery,  and  heartsome. 

"  That's  right,  my  dear,  only  it  looks  like  a  straggling  sun 
beam  after  a  March  storm.  I'm  old  enough  to  be  your  mother, 
and  the  last  of  your  kin.  I  think  you  know,  that  I  mean  you 
well.  I  can  take  contradiction,  and  even  a  flat  denial ;  but 
cowardly  souls  I  never  could  endure." 

Victor  raised  his  eyes  at  this.  The  lad  seemed  to  promise  a 
good  fight,  and  she  experienced  an  instinctive  longing  to  take 
him  in  hand — to  shape  the  soul  into  that  of  a  hero.  A  very 
weak,  miserable,  soul  he  felt  it  just  now. 

' '  This  is  my  husband. " 

Anah  Hurst  clasped  the  hand  in  hers  and  seemed  to  sway  his 
unsteady  eyes  with  the  motion.  "John,  you  remember  hear 
ing  my  father  speak  of  cousin  McRae  of  Cragness  ?  This  is 
she.  And  the  gentleman  is  Doctor  Trewartha. " 

"  McRae.  Yes,  your  father — dead  long  ago  ;"  glancing  at 
her  wistfully.  "  I  don't  understand." 

"I'm  a  kinswoman  of  your  wife,  her  only  one.  I  think 
you  will  trust  her  with  me,  that  you  will  take  me  for  a  friend  ?" 
and  stooping  her  tall  figure,  Janet  McRae  looked  steadily  into 
the  wandering  eyes,  seeming  to  rouse  their  latent  strength  as 
nothing  had  done  since  the  stroke. 


184  With  Fate  against  Him. 

" A  friend — yes;"  with  the  look  of  patient  reflection  you 
sometimes  behold  in  the  face  of  a  dumb  beast  when  it  seems 
as  if  its  soul  would  be  moved  to  speech. 

"A  fiiend  ;"  still  with  the  peculiar  force  and  steadiness. 
"  We  are  the  last  of  a  long  and  honorable  line." 

Victor  flushed.  She  had  spoken  the  truth  unwittingly. 
Those  two  women,  so  very  dissimilar,  were  the  last  of  their 
honorable  line. 

"And  Doctor  Trewartha  would  like  to  examine  a  little  into 
your  case.  I  hardly  need  recommend  him,"  glancing  at  Anah. 

No,  the  face  spoke  for  itself.  A  good,  sweet,  courtly  gen 
tleman,  with  a  tender,  heartsome  smile  and  a  rich  voice  that 
carried  with  it  some  secret  of  a  life  well  used.  John  Hurst 
appeared  to  listen  and  think  as  if  he  had  heard  it  in  some 
other  country. 

"  We  will  leave  them  together,"  Mrs.  McRae  began.  "I 
have  much  to  say  to  you,  much  to  hear." 

So  the  two  went  out  to  the  old  kitchen  and  sat  in  front  of 
the  broad  fireplace. 

"It  has  been  a  hard  life,"  the  elder  said,  "I  can  tell  by 
your  face.  God's  vicegerents  now  are  not  treated  as  well  as 
the  Levites  of  old.  Few  people  can  afford  to'give  a  tenth,  but 
still  they  demand  ministers.  I  think  a  clergyman  who  under 
rates  himself  sins  as  much  as  they — panders  to  their  selfish 
ness.  If  they  dared  to  do  so  at  Cragness  I  should  shut  up 
the  church.  I'm  not  much  of  a  believer  in  it  myself;  but  I 
should  stand  up  for  one  man's  rights  as  soon  as  another. 
There's  a  monstrous  sight  of  wrong-dealing  in  this  world." 
1  "  God  will  set  it  right  at  last,  I  think,"  deprecatingly. 

"  Humph  !  So  you  wait  for  that  ?  There's  one  text  that  I 
think  worth  dozens  of  your  weak  resignation  :  '  Speak  to  the 
children  of  Israel  that  they  go  forward.'  And  the  children  of 
this  day  want  speaking  to  pretty  often,  according  to  my  think 
ing.  The  world  is  full  of  laggards,  who  would  rather  sit  with 
folded  hands  and  sing  psalms  than  be  up  and  doing." 


With  Fate  against  Him.  i85 

"He  never  sat  with  folded  hands,  but  went  to  the  last 
moment,  the  last  step." 

"Yes,  I've  heard  of  him.  I  told  you  last  night  the  men 
who  took  such  work  upon  themselves,  ought  to  have  fortunes." 

"  He  was  called.      He  left  everything." 

"Yes.  This  was  his  reward,"  glancing  around  the  bare, 
common  room.  "And  the  burden  he  is  bearing — that  you 
are  all  bearing.  Anah  Hurst,  I  wonder  sometimes  what  the 
religion  of  the  world  is  worth.  I  don't  doubt  that  he  was  a 
good  man,  and  his  brethren  have  left  him  to  trust  God  to  the 
uttermost.  I  dare  say  some  of  them  ride  in  their  carriages." 

"  He  was  content  with  his  place." 

"Well,  I'm  not  content  with  yours,  nor  your  son's.  He 
flew  off  at  a  tangent  on  the  other  side,  it  seems.  Well,  well, 
we  all  try  our  hand  at  righting  the  world,  and  it  will  still  go 
wrong  after  we  are  in  our  graves.  I  suppose  it  always  did,  for 
that  matter,  since  the  flood  was  early  in  its  history.  But  I  have 
something  else  on  my  mind.  Your  son  has  spirit  and  energy, 
certainly.  How  did  he  get  among  that  rabble  ?  He  doesn't 
look  as  if  his  choicest  sympathies  were  with  them.  He's  not 
a  McRae,  still  less  is  he  a  Hurst.  But  one  can  never  answer 
for  all  the  tricks  of  ancestry." 

"  His  father  thought  it  better  that  he  should  have  a  trade," 
and  the  color  fluttered  over  her  worn  face. 

"I've  no  objection  to  that.  The  McRaes  worked  for  gen 
erations  before  I  was  born,  and  I'm  none  the  worse  for  it. 
But  maybe  something  else  would  have  done  better  for  the 
child,  filled  his  hungry  brain.  In  these  days  brains  have  come 
to  be  a  deal  of  trouble.  So  I  have  resolved  to  take  you  all  back 
to  Cragness  with  me." 

Anah  Hurst  started  up  in  utter  astonishment. 

"  Yes.  There  are  broad  acres  of  farm-land,  mountain-wilds, 
a  mill,  a  stone-quarry — and  gold  for  all  I  know,"  with  a  short 
laugh.  "And  why  should  I  not  do  it?  I  have  no  kith  noi 
kin  beside." 


186  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"But — ,"  for  though  Anah  Hurst  had  thought  of  possible 
generosity,  nothing  so  entire  had  found  its  way  to  her  soul,  in 
its  wildest  imaginings. 

"It  will  be  better  for  the  lad,  I  think,  and  change  into 
mountain  air  may  benefit  your  husband.  Trewartha  will  de 
cide  when  and  how  it  will  be  possible  to  move  him.  Hush, 
not  a  word.  I  am  impoverishing  no  one.  Suppose,  after  having 
lived  your  life  of  penury — after  seeing  your  son  drag  through 
a  miserable  existence  with  poverty  and  discouragements,  a  for 
tune  should  come  to  him  at  the  last.  Better  a  little  now,  I  say. 
I'm  not  going  to  make  him  rich,  but  to  give  him  a  fair  start." 

Anah  reached  out  her  hand. 

"You  are  too  good,"  she  almost  sobbed. 

"  No,  I'm  not  good  at  all.  Dispossess  your  mind  quickly  of 
that  idea.  I'm  a  proud,  self-willed,  cranky  old  woman.  But  I 
should  not  have  the  grace  to  die  without  leaving  you  a  few 
thousands,  and  for  all  I  see  I  may  as  well  use  them  now. " 

They  talked  until  almost  noon.  Trewartha  and  Victor,  in 
the  adjoining  room,  made  rapid  strides  into  good-fellowship. 
It  was  Victor's  first  real  experience  with  depth,  strength,  and 
culture,  and  he  found  it  very  fascinating. 

Meanwhile  the  storm  had  increased.  Streets  and  lanes  were 
white  with  the  tempest  of  snow,  still  whirling  little  mounds  to 
the  sheltered  side.  Mrs.  Hurst  began  to  prepare  her  dinner. 
Victor  was  summoned  and  requested  to  do  some  simple 
marketing.  She  handed  him  the  note  received  last  night  from 
Mrs.  McRae. 

"No,  I  couldn't  touch  it;"  with  a  young  man's  sensitive 
pride,  the  fine  nostrils  curling  impatiently. 

"It  is  all  I  have.     When  they  pay  father — " 

He  thrust  his  fur  cap  over  his  eyes,  pulled  his  coat-collar  up 
round  his  chin,  and  stamped  his  way  down  the  walk.  Two 
pictures  came  vividly  before  his  mental  vision — Alfred  Lowndes, 
"our  talented  and  painstaking  young  countryman  on  the  high 
road  to  fame,"  as  the  papers  had  announced  him  at  his  depart- 


With  Fate  against  Him.  187 

ure,  sunning  himself  in  that  far  land  of  beaut)'  and  art,  and 
winning  praise,  making  money  with  what  ?  a  paltry  gift  of 
presenting  nature  in  her  washed-up  drawing-room  attire  of 
small  prettiness  ;  and  Doctor  Trewartha,  a  man  of  true  culture, 
refinement,  ease,  rare  humor  and  knowledge  of  all  kinds,  able 
to  classify  the  lizards  found  in  rocks  centuries  old,  and  tell  you 
•what  gradations  of  color  went  to  make  an  autumn  leaf.  Not 
that  he  envied  Lowndes,  only  the  luck  that  had  placed  him 
where  he  was  ;  nor  Trewartha,  any  farther  than  the  life  and 
wealth  that  had  given  him  such  advantages.  Fifteen  years 
from  this  he  could  reach  neither  estate,  not  having  the  trick  of 
popularity  the  one  possessed,  nor  the  ease  and  leisure  of  the 
other.  Talk  of  a  man  working  his  way  up — was  it  an  easy 
task  when  brain  and  soul  and  limbs  were  exhausted  with 
severe  physical  labor  ? 

He  turned  into  the  little  shop.  Sometimes  they  had  an 
account  standing  here  when  the  salary  had  been  very  much  in 
arrears ;  but  now  he  must  deliberately  ask  for  credit. 

"Morning,  Hurst.  Bitterish  kind  of  a  storm.  Been 
threatening  a  long  while,  though.  How's  your  father  ?" 

Then  James  Penly  went  on  chopping  the  ragged  edges  off 
of  a  piece  of  meat,  and  throwing  them  on  another  block  for 
sausage. 

"About  the  same." 

"What'll  you  have?"  seeing  that  his  customer  was  rather 
backward,  and  half-suspecting  the  truth. 

"Several  articles,  and — if  you  will  let  them  stand — "  stam 
mering,  as  he  crushed  down  his  pride. 

"Well — "  hesitatingly,  "times  are  pretty  hard  ;  business  of 
all  kinds  being  so  dull.  Awful  work  to  collect  money.  Got 
a  look  for  anything  ?" 

"  No ;"  the  fair  face  turning  swarthy  with  mortification.  "But 
the  salary  has  not  all  been  paid,  or.  I  should  not  ask  you  to 
wait."  He  felt  quite  willing  now  to  take  it  in  hand. 

"Hasn't?"  with   a   kind  of  contemptuous  laugh.      "You 


1 88  With  Fate  against  Him. 

might  about  as  well  give  that  up,  then.      Rather  <?«lucky  that 
you  should  have  gone  so  deep  into  the  strike,  Hurst." 

Victor  turned  as  if  he  would  leave  the  place. 

"  Don't  be  so  huffy,  young  man.  I've  never  been  disoblig 
ing  yet  to  an  honest  neighbor.  Come,  what'll  you  have?"  with 
an  air  of  alacrity. 

Victor  swallowed  his  pride  and  the  deeper  wound,  and  made 
his  few  purchases.  This  was  the  real  sting  of  poverty  ;  but  he 
did  not  mean  that  Mrs.  McRae  should  eat  her  dinner  in  their 
house,  bought  with  her  own  money. 

Doctor  Trewartha  had  been  discussing  Mr.  Hurst's  case  with 
the  two  women. 

"  He  should  have  been  taken  out  through  the  summer,  and 
thus  assisted  in  regaining  the  use  of  his  limbs  ;  and  the  exer 
cise  would  have  been  beneficial  to  his  brain  as  well.  There 
can  be  hardly  any  hope  of  his  ultimate  recovery,  but  he  may 
improve,  as  his  constitution  still  seems  strong.  Change 
of  scene,  and  an  entirely  different  life,  must  be  the  first 
step. " 

Anah  sighed.  How  easy  it  was  to  talk — to  prescribe.  God 
had  sent  poverty  and  misfortune  upon  them,  but  they  were  not 
alone.  She  had  seen  so  many  poor,  weary  creatures  stretched 
upon  beds  of  helplessness,  until  from  her  sad,  overflowing 
heart  she  had  cried,  ' '  How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ?"  Was 
the  world  ruled  with  justice  and  wisdom  ? 

"We  thought  of  going  away,"  she  said,  hesitatingly.  "Vic 
tor  had  planned — " 

"I  may  as  well  tell  you,  Trewartha,  that  /  have  not  only 
planned,  but  have  made  known  my  wishes.  When  could 
Mr.  Hurst  endure  the  fatigue  of  a  journey  ?" 

"  He  could  be  moved  as  soon  as  the  weather  would  permit," 
glancing  from  one  to  the  other  in  the  utmost  surprise,  and 
then  smiling.  He  might  have  known  that  Janet  McRae 
would  lose  no  time. 

"But  the  young  man — " 


With  Fate  against  Him.  189 

"Mrs.  Hurst  has  trained  her  son  but  poorly  if  he  refuses 
to  see  what  is  so  evidently  for  his  own  advantage,"  in  a  quick 
tone,  tapping  her  foot  sharply  upon  the  floor. 

Trewartha  came  round  to  her  side  and  said,  just  under  his 
breath — "  Be  careful  •  the  fellow  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer." 

"But  you  think  him  worth  saving?" 

"I  think  him  worth  it ;"  with  an  odd,  far-light  in  the  eyes, 
as  if  speculating  upon  some  matter. 

"  I'll  be  tender  of  his  pride  ;"  laughing  complacently. 

Trewartha  would  have  gone  about  the  business  cautiously: 
questioned  the  young  man's  wants,  and  aims,  and  longings, 
and  entrapped  him  upon  some  unwary  admission — he  half 
suspected  them  now — and  then  led  him  gently  to  the  point. 
Straightforward  women  have  more  confidence  in  the  force  of 
simple  truth,  depending  less  upon  logical  sequences. 

So  that  afternoon  she  laid  the  matter  before  Victor,  growing 
eloquent  over  the  advantages  his  parents  would  derive  from 
the  change. 

"And  as  for  you,"  she  went  on,  in  her  caustic  but  sweet- 
humored  way,  that,  after  all,  was  her  most  fascinating  gift,  "I 
should  think  you  had  gone  to  the  end  of  your  tether  here. 
You  will  find  that  a  man's  blunders  are  remembered  against 
him  more  readily  than  his  sins,  in  this  world,  where  want  of 
success  is  a  crime.  Come  to  Cragness,  and  see  how  you  like 
it.  You  can  find  plenty  of  work  there,  if  that  is  your  fancy," 
studying  him  with  her  keen  blue  eyes. 

"  Poverty  and  work  go  together  naturally,  I  believe.  It  is 
an  ancient  partnership,  never  to  be  divorced  ;"  meeting  her 
glance  with  an  under-current  of  defiance  that  she  liked.  Weak 
people  were  her  abomination. 

'John  Hurst  made  a  mistake  when  he  gave  you  that  birth 
right.  He  should  have  done  better." 

A  faint  purple  line  showed  about  Victor's  mouth.  The 
world  outside  would  never  know  what  John  Hurst  had  done 
for  him,  and  he  had  chivalry  enough  not  to  hear  him  blamed. 


190  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"He  did  what  he  thought  right.  1  can't  make  it  clear  how 
much  God  demands,  but  he  gave  Him  all.  As  for  the  years 
to  come,  I  shall  take  care  of  him  while  he  lives.  I  shall  not 
go  to  the  wall  because  the  luck  was  against  me." 

"Luck  !"  with  a  fiery,  downward  breath,  like  an  impatient 
snort.  "You  struck  your  blow  at  the  wrong  time,  that  was 
all — a  blunder.  You  tried  to  fight  capital  when  business  was 
growing  dull,  and  men  had  swarmed  in  from  the  country, 
more  fools  they  ;  and  your  workmen,  living  from  hand  to 
mouth,  can  hold  out  about  so  long — employers  know  that, 
too.  The  week's  wages,  the  Trade's  fund,  and  credit  at  the 
corner  grocery — a  matter  of  two  months,  may  be  less,  and  then 
submission." 

"I  think  we  had  the  right  of  it,"  doggedly.  "Just  ?  bare 
subsistence  for  the  men  with  families,  and  that  to  be  lowered 
when  extra  expenses  were  coming  on." 

"  Let  them  fight  their  own  battles  another  time." 
"  I  couldn't.     You  do  not  understand.     If  I  had  refused  to 
join  the  men  I  should  have  been  marked  on  the  other  side.    I 
was  no  great  favorite  with  them  any  way." 

"  You  don't  belong  to  them  ;"  tapping  her  foot  hard  to  give 
her  words  force. 

"It  is  difficult  to  tell  where  some  men  do  belong,"  with  a 
bitter  smile,  thinking  how  everything  had  conspired  to  throw 
him  into  this  groove.  Even  Lowndes  had  raised  his  hand. 

"  You  are  young  enough  to  try  it  over  again.  More  than 
one  person  has  missed  the  path  in  his  hot  unreasoning 
youth." 

He  made  no  answer.  She  watched  the  power  and  beauty  in 
his  face,  the  sharp  discordant  lines  that  looked  so  inharmo 
nious.  And  though  in  her  sturdy  Scotch  pride  she  would 
have  flung  out  the  Greek  grace  and  sort  of  sculptured  contour, 
as  a  woman  it  rather  pleased  her.  It  was  not  soft  and  vas- 
cillating.  He  could  be  sharp  and  ungracious  when  the  mood 
took  him. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  191 

"So  you  will  come  to  Cragness,"  she  went  on,  as  if  the 
matter  was  settled.  "It  is  not  likely  your  father  can  live 
many  years.  I  shall  wish  to  keep  your  mother  after  that  my 
self,  and  you  can  try  your  fortune.  By  that  time  you  will 
know  best  what  to  do. " 

Victor  Hurst's  eyes  wandered  to  the  drooping  figure  of  his 
mother.  She  was  sitting  beside  her  husband,  Trewartha 
making  a  third,  and  explaining  some  curious  case  over  which 
he  had  puzzled  years  agone.  He  noted  the  sharpened  outlines, 
the  thin  fingers  busy  with  the  knitting,  the  slow-moving 
melancholy  eyes,  the  pale  grayish  skin  with  no  soft  flush  or 
elasticity  about  it.  She,  barely  past  the  boundary-line  of  forty, 
and  this  hardy,  brilliant,  forcible  woman,  with  breath  fragrant 
as  dewy  violets,  cheeks  with  the  flush  of  youth,  no  sense  of 
loss  or  incompleteness  about  her,  no  hint  of  privation  in  the 
firm,  rosy  flesh,  and  lacking  only  a  few  years  of  the  allotted 
three  score  and  ten. 

Would  it  not  be  cruel  to  deprive  her  of  the  only  alleviation 
that  might  come  in  her  life  ?  And  then  he  had  half  promised 
her. 

If  Mrs.  McRae  knew  the  secret  that  he  and  his  mother  held 
between  them,  would  she  still  ask  ?  But  were  they  bound 
to  drag  up  the  sins  of  another  person  and  answer  for 
them? 

"I  will  come  to  Cragness,"  he  began,  in  a  slow,  deliberate 
tone,  "if  I  can  find  work  there.  I  could  obtain  it  elsewhere, 
but  the  trouble  is  to  leave  them  alone  until  I  am  able  to  make 
a  new  home.  We  are  very  poor." 

He  did  not  flush  but  rather  paled  at  this  confession.  And 
she,  reading  the  stormy,  pricking  pride,  the  bitter  humiliation, 
was  minded  to  help  him,  and  answered  more  softly — 

' '  John  Hurst  might  have  been  a  prosperous  man  if  he 
had  thought  more  of  himself  and  less  of  his  neighbors.  I  don't 
know  but  he  went  beyond  the  commandment.  We  under 
stand  the  need  of  a  heaven  when  we  see  such  lives." 


192  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Then  she  was  not  all  satire  and  self-esteem.  He  seemed 
to  draw  nearer  to  her,  silently. 

"You  shall  find  the  work.  I  have  to  depend  upon  my 
good  friend  Doctor  Trewartha  for  many  favors  where  it  would 
be  good  to  have  help  of  one's  own.  Since  Mr.  McRae's 
death,  sixteen  years  ago,  I  have  carried  on  the  place  alone." 

"One's  own  !"  A  tint  of  the  McRae  blood  ran  in  his  veins 
to  be  sure,  but — as  a  curious  suspicion  flashed  through  his 
brain — how  could  he  well  help — he  would  be  the  last  of  the 
race.  No,  if  she  thought  of  such  a  thing  it  could  never, 
never  be.  One  way  and  another  every  family  carried  about 
with  them  some  honors,  pride,  wealth,  lineage,  pure  blood, 
and  there  had  been  a  curse  set  upon  him  that  would  mock 
them  all. 

"  While  my  parents  live  I  shall  be  their  stay  and  support. 
I  think  I  have  some  roving  fancies  in  my  brain,  and  if  I 
were  free  to  follow  them — " 

"Yes,  I  understand;"  nodding  her  head.  "While  they 
live,  then." 

He  was  surprised  at  her  ready  concession. 

She  glanced  at  him  from  under  her  wide,  drooping  lids  as 
a  huntsman  might  at  the  wild  shy  falcon  he  allures  to  his 
finger.  Once  there — 

"A  woman's  wit  is  as  keen  as  a  man's,"  she  said  to  herself. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  MILD  February  sun  lay  warm  over  the  landscape,  making 
the  snow  seem  like  fields  of  amber.  On  the  high  back-ground 
to  the  west  the  trees  were  distinctly  outlined  against  a  sky  that 
wavered  in  azure  lights.  Lower  and  lower,  range  after  range, 
until  you  came  to  the  broad  sweep  of  table-land  broken  by 
clumps  of  timber  left  uncut,  or  here  and  there  a  nest  of  houses 
in  the  ambitious  fellowship  of  a  straggling  village. 

From  her  post  by  the  large  embayed  window,  Sylvia  Red 
mond  studied  the  picture.  This  old  stone  mansion  stood  on  a 
rise  of  ground  with  a  grove  of  giant  oaks  between  it  and  the 
northern  blasts.  Over  to  the  west  were  the  chain  of  mountains, 
far  to  the  south  the  towns,  so  far,  indeed,  that  the  smoke  and 
din  never  penetrated  this  clear,  clean  air.  Janet  McRae  would 
have  it  so. 

"If  the  railroad  came  up  five  miles  higher,  it  would  be 
worth  a  fortune  to  you,"  Dr.  Trewartha  had  said. 

"What  do  I  want  of  a  fortune?"  in  her  sharp,  ringing  tone. 
"It  is  near  enough." 

"It  would  make  the  farm-produce  so  much  more  avail 
able." 

"The  farms  are  well  enough." 

The  towns  and  villages  had  felt  the  effects  ;  but  Cragness  stood 
as  it  did  fifty  years  ago,  not  even  caring  to  hold  out  its  hand 
to  advancing  civilization. 

To  the  eastward  there  were  three  or  four  mansions  belonging 
to  the  gentry,  stretched  far  apart,  with  their  wide,  surrounding 
acres.  A  rather  lonely  place  most  people  would  have  thought, 
but  Sylvia  liked  it.  She  never  wearied  standing  by  this  window, 

9 


194  With  Fate  against  Him. 

noting  all  the  fine  detail  of  the  still-life  picture.  She  had  seen 
the  old  blackened  tree  down  yonder  scathed  by  lightning,  the 
great  group  of  pines  so  black  and  uncanny  in  winter,  the  in 
dentation  of  the  river  winding  round,  at  this  season  frozen  over, 
but  every  curve  in  it  was  fresh  to  her  memory.  Not  a  hillock 
but  she  could  have  placed  rightly,  had  she  been  thousands  of 
miles  away,  sketching  the  scene. 

"Ruth,"  she  exclaimed,  suddenly  turning  to  her  com 
panion,  "are  there  no  old  legends  connected  with  this 
house  ?" 

"Old  legends?  Not  that  I  know  of." 

The  quiet,  unsmiling  face  never  moved,  the  white  fingers 
went  on  with  their  work,  a  piece  of  heavy  silk-embroidery  for 
a  chair. 

"You  would  have  heard  them?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"That  is  why  I  like  Rothermel.  There  are  such  hosts  of 
pictures,  and  odd,  quaint  stories  about  them.  Knights  and 
ladies,  and  strange,  weird  faces  full  of  daring  and  passion.  I 
like  it  better  even  than  my  uncle's  in  Virginia,  though  the  old 
negro  women  there  tell  me  stories  of  love  and  murder  and 
witchcraft. " 

"With  but  little  truth  in  them." 

"What  does  it  matter,  after  all?  I  like  the  glamor  of 
romance.  I  always  look  over  the  old  Gilliat  chronicles  for  the 
war  scenes,  and  then  take  a  peep  at  the  picture  of  royalist  Sir 
Hugh  in  his  scarlet-slashed  doublet.  That  is  true,  at  least ;" 
with  a  silvery  little  laugh.  ' '  You  are  so  matter  of  fact,  Ruth. " 

"  Yes ;  that  was  too  sadly  true.  The  only  legend  of  the 
McRaes,  if  you  can  call  it  one,  is  the  fact  that  some  of  its 
men  fought  with  Cromwell." 

"I  hate  the  Roundheads!  Think  how  they  must  have 
looked,  with  their  cropped  hair  and  straight  coats,  singing 
psalms  with  a  whine  through  their  nose." 

"They  were  good  men, "  sturdily ;   "and  when  they  could 


With  Fate  against  Him.  195 

no  longer  live  according  to  the  light  of  their  consciences,  they 
crossed  the  sea." 

"And  burned  those  who  would  not  agree  with  them.  An 
odd  species  of  toleration.  I  think  your  ancestors  suffered  a 
little  there.  I  should  hate  them  if  I  were  you." 

Was  it  her  Quaker  blood,  half  a  century  back,  that  made 
Ruth  Gamier  so  impassible  ? 

"Why  should  I  hate  them  ?  They  are  all  dead  and  gone, 
and  lived  according  to  their  light.  It  is  for  God  to  judge  the 
rest. " 

Sylvia  looked  at  her  curiously.  Sometimes  during  the  past 
fortnight  she  had  thought  her  very  handsome.  A  tall,  grand 
woman,  with  a  white,  opaque  skin  rarely  flushing,  steady  dark- 
brown  eyes,  and  a  heavy  crown  of  dark  hair  always  in  the  same 
massive  braids.  Her  dress  was  grave  but  rich,  and  fell  about 
her  in  great  waves,  as  she  sat  in  the  crimson  chair.  That,  and 
the  silks  in  the  embroidery,  gave  her  a  peculiar  brilliance,  as 
the  shining  green  leaves  set  off  a  waxen  camelia.  If  she  would 
only  flush,  or  frown,  or  get  into  little  heats,  like  other  girls — • 
for  after  all,  there  was  only  two  years'  difference  in  their  ages. 
But  Ruth  Gamier  might  have  been  twenty-nine  instead  of 
nineteen. 

"So,  they  were  Roundheads?"  going  back  to  the  former 
subject.  "Mrs.  McRae  should  be  a  staunch  old  Scotch  Pres 
byterian,  then  ?" 

"I  think  the  sharpness  of  creeds  gets  worn  off,"  replied 
Ruth  Gamier,  in  her  slow,  reflective  manner. 

"And  laughed  off,  wherever  Doctor  Trewartha  is,"  responded 
Sylvia,  with  a  quick,  gay  smile  that  seemed  a  part  of  her  em 
phatic  little  face.  "Ruth,  I  am  half  in  love  with  Doctor 
Trewartha." 

Then  the  grave  eyes  were  raised  slowly  to  the  girl  standing 
by  the  window.  The  piquant  little  figure,  flashing  hair,  dewy 
clear  eyes,  and  rosebud  mouth,  were  very  sweet  and  winsome. 
Ruth  had  liked  her  as  one  likes  a  kitten  or  a  spoiled  yet 


196  With  Fate  against  Him. 

charming  child.  To  hear  her  talk  of  love  and  Doctor  Tre- 
wartha  in  the  same  breath  ! 

"He  is  old  enough  to  be  your  father;"  in  a  tone  of  slow 
surprise.  Everything  about  this  girl  was  so  deliberate,  phleg 
matic.  Perhaps  it  was  a  part  of  her  temperament. 

"Well !"  in  her  gay,  sunny,  child's  tone.  "What  does  the 
old  adage  say — 'An  old  man's  darling — a  young  man's  slave.' 
I  do  not  believe  that  I  have  any  taste  for  slavery." 

Then  Ruth  glanced  out  over  the  fast-wasting  snow.  On  the 
ridges  the  ground  began  to  show  through.  The  amber  tints 
were  paling  as  the  sun  went  westward,  resolving  themselves  to 
grayish  white  in  shadowy  places. 

"  When  will  they  return  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  We  ought  to  have  a  letter  to-day.  Mrs. 
McRae  wrote  from  New  York  last.  She  had  gone  thither  on 
a  little  business. " 

"But  it  will  be  soon?" 

Ruth  was  threading  her  needle  with  scarlet,  and  the  contrast 
with  the  snow-white  fingers  attracted  Sylvia.  She  was  such  a 
creature  of  moods  and  whims  and  changeful  fancies. 

"Are  you  growing  homesick?"  Ruth  asked.  "  It  is  dull 
here  without  Mrs.  McRae.  I  am  poor  company." 

"No, — what  put  that  into  your  head  ?  I  like  it  ever  so  much 
better  than  at  cousin  Braisted's.  Everything  is  so  wonderfully 
precise  ;  and  three  old  maids  !  Ruth,  shall  you  ever  marry  ?" 

"How  can  I  tell?"  pushing  the  hair  back  from  her  temple 
and  looking  straight  through  vacancy. 

"Sure  enough.  We  do  not  know  anything  about  it.  Now 
I  have  a  presentiment — there  comes  Matt !" 

So  the  presentiment  vanished.  Sylvia  ran  out  of  the  room 
and  through  the  broad  oaken  panelled  hall,  tugging  at  the  great 
door.  She  rather  liked  this  being  lawless  and  following  out 
every  passing  impulse. 

Matt  halted  his  shaggy  pony,  sprang  off,  and  brought  a  small 
rusty-looking  bag  up  the  steps. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  197 

"Mail,  Miss  Redmond." 

"Yes." 

She  was  off  again  like  a  flash,  her  long  light  hair  floating 
behind  her. 

"  There  are  your  letters.  Hurry  !  What  news  of  Doctor 
Trewartha  ?  I  have  half  a  mind  to  fall  sick  if  you  hear  noth 
ing." 

Ruth  laid  her  work  on  the  chair  opposite,  opened  the  drawer 
of  Mrs.  McRae's  desk,  and  took  out  a  key. 

"There  is  no  need,"  she  said  presently.  "Why — this  lettei 
has  been  delayed.  They  will  be  home  to-morrow,  the  twen 
tieth.  And—" 

Ruth  made  a  long,  thoughtful  pause,  so  long  that. Sylvia 
exclaimed,  impatiently — "Well?" 

"  They  are  to  bring  some  visitors — connections." 

"I  thought  Mrs.  Janet  McRae  was  the  lone  chief,  the  last 
of  her  family." 

"It  appears  not.  A  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hurst — the  latter  a 
McRae." 

"Hurst!  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  had  heard  the  name 
before,"  and  Sylvia's  bronze  fringed  lids  drooped  dreamily. 

"And  a  son.     The  father  is  a  hopeless  invalid." 

"  I  wonder  what  the  son  is  like?  -  Oh,  Ruth  !"  with  a  great 
gasp. 

"Why,  child,  what  is  the  matter  ?"  glancing  up  in  a  kind  of 
constrained  surprise. 

"  It's  such  an  odd  thought ;"  and  Sylvia  laughed.  "Sup 
pose  Mrs.  McRae  means  to  make  him  her  heir.  Blood  is 
thicker  than  water  with  a  canny  Scotsman.  And  it  is  the  talk 
of  the  neighborhood  that  you  are  to  inherit  Cragness.  Oh,  I 
have  it — you  two  must  marry." 

With  that  Sylvia  clapped  her  baby  hands,  and  laughed  with 
eager  delight.  Ah,  Janet  McRae,  how  soundly  you  could  have 
shaken  the  little  witch  had  you  been  there,  for  thus  betraying 
your  half-formed  plans  in  her  absurd  childish  nonsense  1 


198  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"Sylvia,  how  your  head  runs  on  marriage  this  afternoon. 
It  is  unwomanly. " 

"Ah,  but  I  shall  never  be  a  woman.  Mamma  bewails  the 
fact  daily  when  I  am  with  her.  Besides,  you  know,  this  young 
Hurst  may  be  some  great  clumsy  hobble-de-hoy,  just  in  his 
teens.  So  don't  put  on  your  quaker  face,  my  darling,  for  it's 
always  grave  enough.  You  shall  never  marry  at  all,  if  it  will 
please  you  better. " 

She  kissed  the  smooth  cheek  in  her  extravagant  fashion, 
bringing  quite  a  rosy  flush  in  it. 

"Now  you  are  beautiful,"  she  declared.  "  You  only  want 
color  and  style,  and  a  little  spirit.  Ruth,  I  wonder  if  there 
are  any  grand  central  fires  in  your  soul.  I  feel  sometimes  as 
if  I  were  a  miniature  Mount  Vesuvius." 

"I  must  tell  Martha,  and  have  the  fires  made -to-night — " 

"Oh,  Eve,  on  hospitable  thoughts  intent!" 

"The  two  east  rooms;  and  they  have  not  been  opened 
since  Christmas." 

Ruth  Gamier  studied  her  letter  slowly,  and  then  as  slowly 
walked  out  of  the  room,  with  her  sweeping,  magnificent  step, 
that  a  stage  queen  might  have  envied. 

Sylvia  stood  a  moment  by  the  window.  There  was  a  streak 
of  pale,  watery  yellow  in  the  west,  and  the  world  was  fast  being 
shrouded  by  the  gray  winter  twilight,  cold  and  cheerless. 
What  a  difference  a  little  sun  made  !  She  did  not  love  gloom, 
so  she  rolled  Ruth's  crimson  chair  toward  the  fire,  and  curled 
herself  in  it,  drawing  up  her  dainty  feet,  and  leaning  her  head 
against  the  cushioned  back.  If  an  heir  should  come  to  Crag- 
ness,  would  it  bring  any  pain  to  slow-brained,  quiet-hearted 
Ruth  ?  True,  no  one  had  positively  said  that  Cragness  was  to 
be  hers,  but  then  for  seven  years  Mrs.  McRae  had  treated  her 
as  a  daughter.  And  where  had  she  heard  that  name — Hurst  ? 
It  vexed  her  that  she  could  not  remember. 

Then  she  resigned  herself  to  her  own  sweet,  fanciful  dreams 
of  airy  nothings,  in  which  Doctor  Trewartha's  laugh  was  the 


With  Fate  against  Him.  199 

gayest  feature.  He  would  come  back  to-morrow,  and  she 
would  be  lingering  at  Cragness. 

Ruth,  in  the  meanwhile,  hunted  up  Martha  Mason,  the 
housekeeper,  and  gave  her  the  instructions,  with  the  letter  still 
in  hand. 

"The  rooms  are  to  be  well  aired,  warm,  and  comfortable  ; 
and  they  will  be  here  a  little  past  noon  to-morrow.  The  letter 
was  delayed  two  or  three  days. " 

"I  can  have  it  all  ready,  Miss  Ruth,  never  fear.  A  con 
nection  of  the  family,  you  said  ?  I've  been  here  thirty  years 
come  Easter,  and  I've  never  heard  mention  of  them.  Stay — 
let  me  see — I  think  there  was  a  Richard  McRae  whom  they 
once  visited,  who  had  a  daughter.  I'm  not  quite  clear  in  my 
mind.  If  so,  she  must  have  married  a  Hurst.  The  Madame 
has  a  large  heart,  Miss  Ruth,  but  kin  is  kin,  the  world  over." 

Ruth  Gamier  went  up  to  the  rooms  with  Martha.  They 
were  chilly  enough,  from  their  long  disuse,  but  large  and 
well  furnished. 

"I'll  just  order  the  fires  to  be  made  to-night.  Well,  well  ! 
I'm  glad  to  have  the  mistress  coming  back.  It  doesn't  seem 
like  the  same  house  without  her.  Nearly  a  month  gone." 

Ruth  and  Sylvia  had  their  supper  alone  in  the  quaint  old 
dining-room,  where  the  furniture  and  wainscoting  were  of  the 
most  antique  kind.  Then  Sylvia  read  aloud  from  a  novel, 
and  Ruth  sewed  some  trifle  of  white  muslin.  But  when  they 
were  brushing  out  their  hair  in  Ruth's  room,  Sylvia  must 
needs  speculate  upon  the  new-comers. 

The  morning  was  a  busy  one.  Both  girls  looked  into  the 
chambers  now  and  then,  and  saw  them  approaching  that  state 
of  neatness  for  which  Martha  Mason  was  renowned.  After 
ward  Sylvia  waited  impatiently. 

The  day  was  much  warmer,  with  a  premonition  of  rain  in 
the  hazy,  low-lying  clouds.  The  road  that  had  been  smooth 
and  glassy  showed  the  ruts  made  by  sledge-runners,  and  the 
horses  began  to  track  up  the  soil  underneath.  A  soft,  brood- 


2Oo  With  Fate  against  Him. 

ing  day,  suggesting  the  distant  spring,  with  velvet  turf  and 
violets. 

Sylvia  watched  from  her  post  at  the  window.  She  counted 
the  trees  and  the  hills ;  saw  the  tall  chimney  down  below  on 
the  plain,  and  the  clustering  nest  of  houses  indistinctly,  as  if 
she  half  dreamed  it.  Presently  there  came  a  long  streak  of 
dense  black  smoke  against  the  delicate  blue-gray  sky. 

"The  train  is  in,  Ruth." 

"And  my  work  is  done.  I  believe  there  is  not  another 
stitch  to  put  in  it.  Mrs.  McRae  will  be  so  surprised.  She  said 
I  would  not  have  it  finished  before  midsummer." 

Ruth  began  to  go  carefully  over  the  work  with  her  steady 
eyes.  Not  a  miss  or  flaw  anywhere.  It  was  very  beautiful. 

M  Matt  went  down,  of  course  ?" 

"Both  Matt  and  Joe,  and  the  two  sleighs." 

"We  shall  have  a  houseful.  Of  all  things,  I  like  a  crowd 
and  new  faces.  People  seem  ever  so  much  more  entertaining 
to  me  than  books.  There  they  are  always  accurately  mapped 
out :  so  much  goodness,  so  much  angelic  patience,  such  a 
temperament,  and  you  know  at  once  what  the  man  or  woman 
does.  I  like  surprises." 

"Certain  temperaments  are  subject  to  certain  laws.  They 
must  act  as  the  motive  power  leads  unless  restrained  by  God's 
grace. " 

"  Ruth,  you  were  meant  for  a  preacher." 

"I  think  not;"  with  grave  composure.  "I  have  enough 
on  my  hands  without  taking  the  burden  of  the  souls  of 
others. " 

"  How  much  ?"  She  placed  her  small  hands  on  Ruth's  knees 
and  looked  earnestly  into  the  placid  brown  eyes  that  were 
great  calm  lakes.  "You  never  do  anything  wrong.  You  are 
helpful,  industrious,  kind,  patient,  and  oh,  too  goody,"  with  a 
gay  laugh.  "I  shouldn't  think  you  would  ever  find  a  flaw  of 
which  you  could  repent.  Now,  I  am  '  evil  continually."1 

Yet  very  sweet,  Ruth  Gamier  thought,  gazing  into  the  glad 


With  Fate  against  Him.  201 

child's  face.  They  were  so  unlike,  yet  they  always  enjoyed 
each  other's  society  exceedingly. 

So  the  talk  went  on,  while  fate  was  coming  nearer  every 
moment.  It  is  so  strange  and  awesome  to  be  approaching  the 
great  unseen  which  is  to  change  the  current  of  our  lives  and 
work  us  good  or  ill.  Every  day  thousands  of  souls  pass  this 
point,  stretching  out  eager  hands. 

Then  a  muffled  sound  of  bells  floated  to  them,  for  there 
was  no  resonance  or  elasticity  in  the  air.  Sylvia  longed  to  run 
down  with  a  glad  cry  of  welcome,  but  she  stood  a  litlle  in  awe 
.of  Mrs.  McRae,  and  desired  of  all  things  to  be  proper. 

"There's  Doctor  Trewartha's  lovely,  sunshiny  face — he  is 
handsome,  Ruth,  and — oh  !" 

She  was  silent  so  long,  and  so  motionless  that  Ruth  glanced 
curiously  at  her,  and  then  out  of  the  window.  Doctor  Tre- 
wartha  was  taking  a  burden  in  his  arms,  and  a  plainly-dressed 
woman  stood  beside  him.  In  the  sleigh  behind  were  Janet 
McRae's  tall  figure  and  ample  shoulders,  and  a  young  man. 

"I  must  go  down,"  Ruth  said,  slowly. 

But  Sylvia  made  no  stir.  She  was  wondering  where  she  had 
seen  that  floating  tawny  hair,  that  clear-cut  Greek  profile,  that 
proud  air  and  carriage.  Surely  she  had  talked  to  him,  watched 
the  unconsciously  imperious  gestures. 

Mrs.  McRae  came  into  the  hall  and  kissed  Ruth  upon  her 
cheek.  Then  the  breezy  voice  swept  up  and  down  like  a  cur 
rent  of  her  own  mountain  air.  Cheerful  greetings  to  servants, 
inquiries,  commands,  all  in  a  breath. 

"  Is  the  room  ready,  Martha  ?  It  will  be  best  to  take  him 
up  at  once — he  is  so  fatigued  with  the  journey.  Ruth,  this  is 
Mrs.  Hurst,  and  her  son.  Be  careful,  Trewartha  !  Miss  Gar- 
nier" — her  eyes  travelling  from  one  to  another  even  as  her  words. 

Some  strange  impulse  led  Ruth  to  take  the  trembling  hand, 
for  Mrs.  Hurst  appeared  frightened  by  all  this  stir  and  scurry 
ing  of  servants.  Perhaps,  too,  she  wondered  at  her  own 
temerity  in  venturing  upon  the  friendship  of  Janet  McRae. 


202  With  Fate  against  Him. 

They  carried  John  Hurst  to  his  room  and  disencumbered 
him  of  his  wrappings.  Trewartha  was  as  gentle  as  if  he  had 
been  a  baby.  The  faded  eyes  thanked  him  with  their  wavering 
smile. 

Ruth,  in  the  meanwhile  attended  to  Mrs.  Hurst,  and  when 
they  were  in  a  fair  way  of  being  comfortable,  Mrs.  McRae 
carried  her  off  to  her  own  room,  and  heard  in  ten  minutes 
the  amount  of  news  and  business  that  had  come  under  the 
girl's  supervision. 

To  Sylvia  the  time  was  simply  intolerable.  What  were  they 
all  doing  and  talking  about  ?  If  she  could  only  have  another 
glimpse  of  the  face  to  assist  her  memory.  Was  Mr.  Hurst  a 
terrible,  helpless  invalid  ?  What  would  his  wife  be  like  ? 

All  manner  of  disjointed  fancies  ran  through  her  brain. 
Then  the  door  opened. 

"Sylvia,  child,  how  do  you  do?"  kissing  her  on  the  cheek 
as  well.  "  So  you've  been  helping  -Ruth  keep  house  ?" 

"Not  much  help,  I  think,"  with  a  gay  laugh. 

"  Mrs.  Hurst,  Sylvia  Redmond." 

A  neat,  delicate,  commonplace  woman,  with  nothing 
about  her  to  offend  in  her  soft  gray  stuff  dress  and  linen  collar 
and  cuffs ;  but  the  meek,  patient  sorrow  in  her  face  went  to 
Sylvia's  heart. 

"You  were  never  in  the  old  house,  I  think,"  Mrs.  McRae 
began.  "It  bears  its  age  better  than  we  shall.  What  puny 
things  we  are  compared  to  yonder  mountain,  or  those  giant 
oaks  !  Yet  we  have  our  own  work  to  do — our  own  work," 
tapping  the  window-sill  with  her  long  forefinger. 

Sylvia  cared  little  about  the  work.  She  drew  a  chair  for 
Mrs.  Hurst,  and  then  rolled  an  ottoman  to  Mrs.  McRae's  feet, 
seating  herself. 

"  Tell  me  about  New  York,"  she  said,  "and  Philadelphia, 
and—" 

"You  must  ask  Doctor  Trewartha.  It's  a  noisy  Babel  to 
me,  full  of  sights  and  sounds,  for  which  I  at  least  have  no 


With  Fate  against  Him.  203 

longing.  Balls  and  theatres  and  shopping  are  out  of  my  line 
as  well.  You  and  Ruth  would  see  more  in  half  an  hour  than 
I  in  a  week.  I  am  devoutly  glad  to  get  home,  Midge ; 
more  rejoiced  than  you  at  going. " 

"I  don't  wonder  that  you  are  glad  to  come  here.  I  am 
always,  and  it  is  not  my  home  either.  There's  such  a  great, 
grand  restfulness  about  it." 

Janet  McRae  enclosed  the  child's  face  in  her  two  hands, 
and  gazed  intently  at  the  lustrous  eyes.  What  an  odd  little 
thing  it  was,  going  to  the  depths  of  souls  now  and  then,  by 
one  or  two  trenchant  words.  The  strong  old  features  softened 
to  a  smile. 

It  was  almost  dusk  when  Doctor  Trewartha  came  down, 
followed  by  Victor.  Mrs.  McRae  rang  for  lights,  and  bustled 
about  as  became  the  mistress  in  her  own  house.  Mrs.  Hurst 
spoke  to  her  son,  calling  him  by  name. 

"Victor!" 

Sylvia  Redmond  looked  again.  Yes,  it  all  came  back  to  her 
now.  The  quaint  Bohmerwald  settlement,  the  festival  with  its 
moonlight  and  homely  cheer,  the  fantastic  musician,  and  Vic 
tor  Hurst !  He  had  forgotten  her,  but  she  should  remember 
him  among  a  thousand. 

"Midge,"  Trewartha  exclaimed,  pinching  the  rosy  cheek," 
what  grave  subject  are  you  pondering?  You  are  not  at  all 
glad  to  see  me.  You  have  not  given  me  one  word  of  welcome." 

"  You  deserve  to  be  punished  for  staying  away  so  long." 

"  Is  that  it  ?     Have  you  grown  jealous  ?" 

"Yes.  Of  him.  You  will  like  him  better  than  you  do 
me,"  in  a  soft  whisper  that  reached  only  Ruth  Gamier. 

"  He  is  a  man  and  a  companion,  you  know,"  with  a  twinkle 
in  the  mirthful  eyes. 

She  crept  closer,  and  slipped  her  hand  within  Doctor  Tre- 
wartha's. 

"Where  did  she  find  him?"  with  a  dainty,  meaning  empha 
sis  upon  both  pronouns. 


204  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"At  Weareham." 

"Accidentally?" 

"Treason,  conspiracy!"  he  whispered.  "Is  he  handsome 
enough  for  your  little  ladyship  ?" 

"She  likes  him  ?" 

"Yes." 

This  had  passed  under  cover  of  the  moving  about  of  lamps, 
stirring  the  fire,  and  a  sort  of  general  conversation  between  the 
others.  Now  supper  was  announced.  Mrs.  Hurst  glanced 
at  the  Doctor  half  distressfully. 

"  He  was  sleeping  very  tranquilly,  and  there  is  no  cause  for 
anxiety.  However,  I  will  see." 

He  sprang  up  the  stairs  and  down  again  before  they  were 
seated  at  the  table.  Sylvia  had  taken  the  place  next  to  his. 
With  a  word  he  set  Mrs.  Hurst's  fears  at  rest. 

Sylvia  was  opposite  Victor.  Not  a  muscle  of  his  face  be 
trayed  the  slightest  consciousness,  though  she  little  fancied 
that  he  was  debating  whether  it  would  be  prudent  to  recognize 
her  by  and  by.  He  felt  somewhat  strange  in  this  grand  old 
dining-hall,  with  these  high-bred  ladies  about  him.  For  Sylvia, 
whatever  her  freedoms,  carried  herself  like  a  little  queen.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  stood  less  in  awe  of  Mrs.  McRae  than  did 
Ruth.  And  then  he  wondered  how  they  both  came  here — if 
it  was  their  home  as  well  ? 

Sylvia  and  Doctor  Trewartha  kept  up  a  light  skirmishing, 
Mrs.  McRae  throwing  a  heavy  shell  into  the  outworks  now  and 
then,  which  had  the  effect  of  drawing  the  combatants  closer 
together  for  the  next  few  moments. 

Afterward  Anah  Hurst  stole  off  to  her  husband.  It  was  like 
some  wild,  happy  dream  to  see  him  lying  here  amid  this  lux 
ury,  and  to  know  the  poverty  he  had  faced  so  many  years 
would  never  be  his  again.  God  had  opened  a  door  of  escape 
for  them  all.  So  she  prayed  softly,  and  cried  between  the 
broken  sentences. 

Mrs.  McRae  was  too  tired  for  her  old-fashioned  game  of 


With  Fate  against  Him.  20 5 

piquet ;  besides,  she  was  in  a  speculative  mood.  Trewartha, 
with  his  usual  fascinating  geniality,  caused  these  young  people 
to  assimilate  as  they  would  not  have  done  in  a  month  if  left 
to  themselves.  He  made  Victor  appear  at  his  very  best.  The 
reading  and  thinking  of  the  past  two  years,  desultory  as  it  had 
been,  was  not  without  some  fruit. 

Once  Trewartha  started  up.  "I  really  ought  to  go  over  to 
the  Cedars,"  he  said.  "I  dare  say  Hannah  had  my  supper 
ready." 

"You  will  do  no  such  thing,  Doctor  Trewartha,"  Mrs. 
McRae  returned,  sharply,  coming  out  of  her  reverie. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"THE  whole  thing  is  plain  enough,  friend  Janet,"  mused 
Doctor  Trewartha,  lighting  his  pipe  and  settling  himself  in  the 
great  leather-backed  chair,  after  he  had  retired  to  his  "den." 
"If  a  woman  has  a  daughter,  or  a  niece,  or  a  young  person 
of  any  degree  or  kind,  her  thoughts  run  upon  matrimony. 
She  can  never  let  nature  or  circumstances  take  their  course. 
And  Ruth  Gamier — " 

He  blew  out  several  whiffs  of  smoke  and  watched  them  curl 
between  him  and  the  drowsing  fire-light.  For  seven  years 
Ruth  Gamier  had  lived  at  Cragness,  the  daughter  of  a  dead 
friend  left  penniless  at  that  early  age,  but  fallen  into  generous 
hands.  She  had  been  cared  for  tenderly  as  a  daughter,  dressed 
elegantly,  taken  into  such  society  as  Mrs.  McRae  frequented — 
the  best  at  Cragness,  you  might  be  sure.  She  had  been  care 
fully  educated,  accomplished  in  a  certain  sense.  These  years 
had  been  full  of  peculiar  interest  to  Mrs.  McRae ;  but  when 
Ruth  Gamier  became  a  woman,  the  keenest  of  it  began  to  flag. 

The  misfortune  of  it  was,  that  she  was  only  a  woman,  a 
proper,  discreet,  cool-blooded  one,  never  likely  to  go  out  of 
the  beaten  paths.  A  friend  and  companion,  a  clear-sighted 
almoner,  a  judicious  adviser  if  her  counsel  was  needed  ;  and 
having  made  her  thus  perfect,  Janet  McRae's  work  in  this 
direction  seemed  to  be  at  a  stand-still. 

She  had  never  announced  Ruth  Gamier  as  her  heir  ;  but  she 
had  once  said  to  Doctor  Trewartha — "  The  man  who  takes  her 
will  have  no  dowerless  maiden."  She  was  past  nineteen  now, 
not  young  for  her  years,  but  at  twenty-five  she  would  be  no 
older. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  207 

In  hunting  up  these  Hursts,  Janet  McRae  had  followed  out 
something  more  than  a  whim. 

After  the  strike  at  Weareham  was  well  over,  one  of  the  least 
partisan  journals  of  the  place  had  read  its  lessons  in  what  the 
editor  considered  a  calm,  dispassionate  style.  The  leaders  in 
the  matter  were  severely  denounced  ;  and  Victor  Hurst,  hy 
reason  of  his  youth  and  inexperience,  was  held  up  as  a  warn 
ing.  The  writer  fancied  that  he  knew  the  case  so  well.  The 
lawless  son  of  a  poor  clergyman,  who,  leaving  the  religion  and 
conservatism  of  his  father,  -had  branched  out  into  unbelief, 
radicalism,  and  violence,  and  audaciously  placed  himself  at 
the  head  of  the  movement — weak,  indeed,  when  it  selected 
such  a  champion. 

Janet  McRae  read  the  article  through. 

"There  was  an  Anah  McRae  who  married  a  Hurst,  a  very 
fair  sort  of  man  until  he  took  up  preaching.  She  was  a  dis 
tant  connection." 

"  Hurst  is  not  such  an  uncommon  name,"  returned  Doctor 
Trewartha. 

"To  be  sure  not." 

The  keen  blue  eyes  studied  the  fallen  embers  on  the  hearth, 
though  they  saw  something  else.  A  helpless,  paralytic  man, 
a  sad,  broken-down  woman,  and  a  wayward  son  who  would 
never  be  any  comfort.  She  had  a  great,  pitiful  nature.  Abun 
dant  means  had  enlarged  rather  than  contracted  it,  and  she 
thought  now  that  some  of  her  useless  thousands  that,  but  for 
Anah's  testy  father  might  have  been  hers,  would  perhaps  keep 
them  from  starving.  As  for  the  young  man,  let  him  go  his  own 
gait  to  destruction  if  he  so  willed. 

She  learned  that  this  was  the  same  John  Hurst  who  had  mar 
ried  her  kinswoman.  Then  she  was  seized  with  an  irresistible 
desire  to  see  them  all.  The  unconfessed  longing  and  ambition 
of  her  life  had  been  to  have  a  son  ;  and  it  seemed  to  her  even 
now  that  this  young  man  might  be  snatched  from  ruin  if  he 


208  With  Fate  against  Him. 

should  prove  worth  saving.  Before  her  visit  she  had  made 
herself  acquainted  with  the  main  incidents  of  their  lives. 

To  Doctor  Trewartha  the  project  appeared  a  crazy  one  ;  but 
he  had  in  some  sense  grown  to  be  an  elder  son  to  her,  and,  as 
she  said,  her  right-hand  man.  He  would  as  soon  have  thought 
of  his  own  mother  travelling  around  in  the  dead  of  winter  as 
she ;  and  though  at  first  he  tried  to  persuade  her  that  the  busi 
ness  in  New  York  could  wait  until  pleasanter  weather,  when  he 
saw  how  resolute  she  was,  he  packed  his  portmanteau  and 
started,  as  most  of  the  medical  practice  was  in  the  hands  of 
Doctor  Greaves  at  the  village. 

They  had  both  been  a  good  deal  surprised  in  Victor  Hurst. 
No  coarse,  illiterate,  violent  demagogue,  to  hang  around  low 
haunts  and  incite  weaker  souls  to  mutiny.  There  was  some 
far  back  reason  for  his  course,  Doctor  Trewartha  felt,  but  the 
young  man  was  oddly  uncommunicative  about  all  pertaining 
to  his  inner  life. 

Doctor  Trewartha,  laughing  now  in  his  amused  way, 
saw  the  end  from  the  beginning.  Victor  would  be  master 
here  some  day,  with  Ruth  Gamier  for  wife. 

The  broad  brow  knitted  itself  into  a  little  frown,  as  if  the 
current  of  lazily-flowing  blood  had  met  with  some  minute  yet 
vexing  obstruction.  Doctor  Trewartha  possessed  a  fine  phy 
sique  and  a  noble  mind,  which  might  have  towered  above  his 
compeers,  but  for  the  indolent,  sensuous  temperament.  He 
impressed  you  by  a  suggestion  of  power  that  he  might  exert, 
but  somehow  never  did.  He  cultivated  art  a  little  ;  occasion 
ally  took  a  spasmodic  interest  in  politics,  or  wrote  an  odd, 
daring  essay,  following  out  some  whim  rather  than  honest 
theory;  and  laughed  at  the  world's  comments  and  credulous- 
ness.  For  the  rest,  fortune  had  showered  her  best  gifts  upon 
him  ;  and  with  a  liberal  income,  he  could  indulge  both  whims 
and  indolence.  Forty  years  of  age  now,  a  widower,  with  a 
phantom  of  a  brief  married  life  in  the  far  back  years. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  209 

Why  should  he  object  to  any  of  these  arrangements  ?  True, 
Janet  McRae  fancied  she  kept  the  latter  part  of  her  secret  well, 
and  would  not  be  likely  to  ask  any  advice  upon  that  point ; 
but  he  had  seen  it  in  her  complacent  eyes.  He  knew  of  what 
she  persuaded  herself.  The  cool  calmness  and  ripe  judgment 
of  Ruth  Gamier  would  hold  the  impulsive,  unequally-balanced 
nature  of  Victor  Hurst  in  check  ;  but  what  was  to  stir  her  to 
the  heights  of  enthusiasm  ?  to  warm  her  blood  into  the  cur 
rent  of  royal  crimson,  without  which  a  woman's  soul  never 
reaches  its  true  height  and  capacity  ? 

Did  some  other  thought  cross  his  mind  ? 

"  Pooh  !"  shaking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and  balancing 
the  amber  mouth-piece  between  his  fingers,  "why  should  old 
blood  seek  to  warm  itself  with  passion-heats?  And  if  she 
should  never  know — why  then  the  sense  of  incompleteness 
could  not  torture.  And  what  are  dreams  that  in  a  brief 
while  scorch  their  way  through  to  gray,  bitter  ashes  !" 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  after  a  long  pause,  "let  him  have 
Cragness  :  it  is  his  right.  And  Ruth  as  well." 

Rain  had  set  in  during  the  night.  The  air  was  soft  and 
murky,  the  clouds  seeming  to  rest  on  the  tree-tops.  Yet 
before  the  slow  dawn  there  was  a  stir  of  busy  life  about  the 
old  house.  Victor  started  when  the  great  bell  in  the  hall  rang 
up  the  maids  and  men  in  the  farther  wing,  and  slept  no  more, 
but  listened  to  the  sounds  that  reached  him  indistinctly,  trying 
to  realize  the  change.  When  he  had  promised  his  mother  not 
to  refuse  any  good  gift  that  might  be  offered,  he  had  hardly 
imagined  one  so  bountiful ;  not  that  he  at  all  suspected  what 
was  so  patent  to  Doctor  Trewartha.  He  had  come  thither  for 
business,  and  for  his  mother's  sake.  If  she  should  find  a  true 
friend  and  a  home  until  he  could  make  her  one,  it  was  all  he 
asked. 

After  breakfast  they  took  a  ramble  around  the  old  house. 
Spacious  rooms,  odd  nooks,  out  of  the  way  corners,  a  great 


2io  With  Fate  against  Him. 

tower  at  the  end  opposite  the  servants'  wing,  full  of  old  treas 
ures  or  rubbish,  and  a  view  from  the  top  that,  in  clear 
weather,  was  unsurpassed. 

Victor's  strangeness  began  to  wear  off  a  little.  They  were 
all  so  genial.  And  it  must  be  confessed  that,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  he  felt  himself  of  true  and  near  kin  to  wealth,  refine 
ment,  and  education.  If  fate  had  cast  his  lot  here  in  the 
beginning !  But  let  him  keep  this  fact  steadily  before  him — 
he  had  come  here  to  work.  He  had  no  other  right. 

Somehow,  at  last  he  found  himself  alone  with  Sylvia  Red 
mond.  There  was  a  deep  recess-window  at  one  end  of  the 
long  hall,  and  thinking  it  a  turn,  having  seen  her  crimson 
morning-dress  vanish  that  way  a  few  moments  before,  he 
followed. 

She  was  perched  on  the  sill  after  the  fashion  of  a  kitten. 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  little  laugh,  while  a  rosy  color, 
like  a  clear  dawn,  fluttered  over  the  sweet,  beguiling  face. 
•  He  flushed  deeply,  and  began  to  stammer  some  excuse. 

"  Oh,  no  matter.  I  was  watching  those  gray-hooded  moun 
tains  yonder.  How  much  of  the  storm  they  gather  in  their 
arms.  Shall  you  like  Cragness,  think  ?  It  is  so  much  more 
inviting  on  a  clear  day.  Or  perhaps  cities  are  more  to  your 
taste  ?" 

"No,"  briefly,  looking  out  of  the  window  rather  than  at 
her;  "I  have  small  love  for  cities.  Cragness  is  a  grand  old 
place — like  its  mistress." 

"  Your  mother  and  she  are  cousins?" 

"Not  so  near  kin  as  that,"  in  his  honest,  straightforward 
way.  "In  fact,  the  relation  is  so  slight  that  it  gives  us  no 
claim.  Mrs.  McRae  offered  me  employment  here,  and  I 
came. " 

"Are  you  going  to  take  charge  of  the  mill  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  yet." 

She  glanced  timidly  at  him.  He  had  changed,  matured 
since  that  summer  night  long  ago.  And  worst  of  all,  he  had 


With  Fate  against  Him.  2 1 1 

forgotten  her.  There  was  a  latent  coquettish  instinct  in  her 
nature,  and  the  handsome,  imperious  face  roused  it.  Could 
she  let  him  glide  over  into  Miss  Garnier's  keeping  without  a 
word  ?  At  that  she  bit  her  lip.  What  had  Janet  McRae  to  do 
with  the  disposal  of  this  man's  soul  ? 

It  was  only  her  well-grounded  suspicion,  and  yet  it  made 
her  as  angry  as  if  it  had  been  announced  to  her  as  a  warning. 

"  Where  is  the  quarry  ?"  he  asked,  showing  that  his  thoughts 
flowed  in  a  different  channel  from  hers. 

"  Down  by  the  village.     But  that — " 

"But  what,  Miss  Redmond?"  with  a  little  confused  pride 
wandering  up  to  his  brow  as  he  spoke. 

"  You  are  not  going  there  ?  You  will  not  work — "  pausing 
abruptly. 

He  remembered  so  well  the  dainty  pride  she  had  displayed 
in  the  other  interview,  the  aristocracy  of  birth  and  pureness  of 
blood  that  had  been  her  starting-points.  And  then  she  had 
admired  the  Gilliats — that  puny,  insolent,  unprincipled,  puppy. 
He  would  let  her  know  that  he  did  not  consider  himself  any 
thing  to  her  or  her  kind.  There  was  a  great  gulf  between 
them,  and  he  had  no  desire  to  bridge  it  over,  no  feverish  wish 
to  become  an  equal,  until  he  stood  fairly  on  the  other  side,  by 
his  own  merit.  Even  then  the  dark  shadow  would  throw  itself 
over  all  the  future.  No,  they  could  never  meet  on  the  same 
plane. 

This  pretty,  playful  trifling,  was  a  part  of  her  nature.  She 
would  have  liked  him  to  acknowledge  it  in  the  pleasant,  defer 
ential  way  that  most  gentlemen  did — to  confess  the  other  meet 
ing,  and  admit  that  he  had  remembered  her.  And  she  also 
wanted  him  to  feel  his  importance  as  possible  heir  to  Cragness. 

"Work  !"  abruptly,  making  the  lines  more  tense  about  his 
mouth  ;  "that  is  what  I  came  to  do.  As  well  in  a  quarry  as 
in  a  foundry,  for  aught  I  see.  I  have  been  used  to  it  all  my 
life,  so  far." 

"  But  your  father  was  a  clergyman,  and  a — " 


212  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"  Not  a  gentleman,  in  your  acceptation  of  the  term,"  almost 
roughly.  "Never  rich,  plain  in  his  education,  going  daily 
among  the  poor  and  ignorant,  and  accustomed  to  sights  and 
sounds  that  would  shock  your  fine  nerves." 

"But  doing  God's  work,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  heat. 
"  Perhaps  in  the  other  country  that  counts  for  more  than 
Norman  blood." 

He  made  a  sudden  sharp  gesture  of  pain,  though  it  looked 
more  like  scorn  to  her.  She  could  not  see  the  anguish  that 
tore  his  heart.  God  only  knew  how  glad  he  would  be  to  come 
here  as  John  Hurst's  lawful  and  honorable  son. 

"The  poverty  remains  about  the  same,  and  a  poor  man 
must  depend  upon  his  own  exertions.  Besides,  I  have  my 
parents  to  care  for." 

"But  Mrs.  McRae— " 

"Mrs.  McRae  has  only  this  much  to  do  with  it — if  I  can 
not  find  employment  here,  I  must  go  elsewhere.  I  shall  not 
presume  upon  so  distant  a  kinship." 

"  But  she  is  very  kind.  She  has  assisted  those  who  had  no 
claim  upon  her.  And  you — " 

"  I  have  none,"  he  interrupted,  coldly. 

She  glanced  in  some  perplexity  at  the  handsome,  irritable, 
secretive  face.  Did  he  mean  to  make  nothing  of  this  tie,  but 
put  himself  on  a  level  with  the  workmen  at  the  mill  ?  And 
this,  when  Mrs.  McRae  had  shown  him  all  attention  since  he 
came  into  the  house. 

He  turned  away  then.  She  let  him  go,  vexed  with  him, 
vexed  with  herself,  and  pained  in  some  dim  way  that  she 
could  not  analyze,  though  her  gift  was  to  feel  rather  than  argue. 
And  it  was  not  for  her  to  tell  him  that  he  might  be  the  heir  if 
he  was  so  stupid  that  he  could  not  see. 

Still,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been  hurt  ;  and  drawing  herself  up 
until  her  round  dimpled  chin  rested  upon  her  knees,  she  shed 
a  few  childish  tears,  making  no  move  until  she  heard  a  ringing 
voice  floating  out  of  the  library,  and  a  step  coming  nearer. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  213 

"Ah,  Midge,  what  are  you  doing  here?  Upon  my  word 
you  have  been  crying  I" 

"I  crying  !"  with  a  disdainful  stretch  of  the  neck,  as  if  she 
would  have  made  herself  a  good  head  taller.  "  Why,  Doctor 
Trewartha  1" 

He  caught  her  up,  gave  her  an  impatient  swing  that  brought ' 
her  face  on  a  level  with  his,  and  kissed  it. 

"Salt  instead  of  sweet;"  shaking  his  head.  "Come  to 
confession,  Midge.  Are  you  homesick  ?  Shall  I  take  you 
back  to  cousin  Braisted's  when  I  go  ?" 

"  When  will  that  be  ?"  with  a  saucy  smile. 

"  In  about  an  hour." 

"  And  you  are  really  going  away  ?"  dolefully. 

"  Why  not  ?  Don't  you  suppose  Hannah  wants  to  see  me, 
and  Bruno,  and  Tiff,  and  the  rest  ?" 

"But  it  rains." 

"What  of  that?"  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "Then  you 
will  not  go  ?" 

"Of  course  not.  How  foolish  of  you.  As  if  you  did  not 
know  that  I  liked  it  ever  so  much  better  here  than  at  cousin 
Braisted's.  When  are  you  coming  back  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  over  by  mid-afternoon.  I  am  to  take  young 
Hurst  with  me." 

"Doctor  Trewartha,  he  is  a  surly,  ungracious  bear!"  in 
her  most  emphatic  manner. 

"That  is  because  you  are  jealous,  Midge,  and  see  him 
with  green  eyes  ;"  and  he  laughed  gayly. 

"  I  don't  like  him." 

"Then  I  shall  not  be  put  to  the  trouble  of  being  jealous. 
There  is  always  some  comfort  to  be  extracted  from  the  law  of 
compensation.'' 

Ruth  Gamier  passing  through  the  hall  heard  her  announce 
ment,  and  his  reply.  She  carried  them  up-stairs  to  her  room 
while  she  put  fresh  flowers  in  her  vase  and  looked  up  some  fine 
needlework,  and  then  brought  them  down  again.  Trewartha 


214  With  Fate  against  Him. 

and  Sylvia  had  settled  themselves  to  a  game  of  chess,  as  a  fare 
well  benizon. 

She  studied  them  vaguely  for  the  first  time.  She  and  Sylvia 
vere  so  widely  different,  something  besides  the  integral  differ 
ence  of  woman  and  child.  She  had  none  of  these  pretty  heats 
and  passions,  the  quick-coming  smiles,  the  nervous  grace,  and 
sweet  low  laughs.  Ah,  that  made  Victor  Hurst  look  up  and 
wince  as  if  it  had  stung  him  somewhere.  He  was  younger 
than  Doctor  Trewartha,  handsomer — why  had  not  youth  and 
beauty  an  affinity  for  each  other  ?  And  suddenly  she  felt  old 
and  gray,  as  if  a  chill  had  come  over  her  whole  life. 

"Check  !"  with  a  daring,  impertinent  little  laugh.  "Doctor 
Trewartha,  you  play  miserably  this  morning." 

"I  am  a  month  out  of  practice.  There,  you  cruel  girl, 
take  king,  queen,  pawn,  everything.  Come,  Victor,  I  hear 
the  pawing  and  snuffing  of  our  steeds  below.  Make  your 
adieus  hastily." 

Sylvia  barely  nodded.  Mrs.  McRae  left  her  great  account- 
book  and  went  out  in  the  hall  to  charge  them  to  be  back  by 
four  at  the  latest.  She  looked  at  Victor  as  he  sprang  into  the 
wagon, — the  sleighing  had  rapidly  disappeared  through  the 
night.  Already  she  felt  proud  of  him,  and  a  strange  nearness 
was  springing  up  in  her  heart.  Although  she  still  grumbled 
about  his  beauty,  she  smiled  as  he  shook  the  rain-drops 
from  his  shining  hair. 

"It  is  odd  where  it  came  from," she  said  to  herself.  "They 
were  a  hardy,  plain,  ungraceful  race — the  women  barely  endur 
able,  and  never  a  handsome  man  in  the  lot.  Something  from 
the  Hurst  side,"  and  straightway  she  felt  a  little  jealous. 

Sylvia  turned  the  leaves  of  her  book  discontentedly,  looked 
out  at  the  gray,  dismal  landscape,  and  finally  found  her  way 
up-stairs,  where  Mrs.  Hurst  sat  keeping  her  invalid  husband 
company. 

He  was  none  the  worse  for  his  journey.  Indeed,  under 
Doctor  Trewartha's  treatment,  he  certainly  had  begun  to 


With  Fate  against  Him.  2 1 5 

improve.  His  mind  was  clearer,  his  memory  more  distinct, 
and  strength  returned  slowly. 

Sylvia  took  a  great  liking  to  Mrs.  Hurst,  and  the  two  gossipped 
for  an  hour  or  more, — harmless  little  interchanges  of  beliefs, 
sentiments,  with  now  and  then  some  reference  to  the  past 
life  on  one  side,  and  Cragness  or  Mrs.  McRae  on  the  other. 

Supper  was  ready  when  the  travellers  returned.  The  day 
had  been  an  era  in  Victor  Hurst's  life.  Equal  companion 
ship  with  a  man  like  Doctor  Trewartha,  stores  of  art  and 
literature  opened  before  him,  bits  of  science  flashing  out  here 
and  there  that,  though  it  made  him  feel  his  own  ignorance  the 
more  keenly,  roused  him  like  a  strong  clang  of  martial  music. 
He  had  known  nothing  like  this  hitherto.  His  father's 
position  had  not  been  the  one  in  which  such  minds  are 
gathered,  and  the  Lowndeses,  with  their  fussy,  under-bred 
pretensions,  were  positively  incapable  of  appreciating  such  a 
gentleman. 

So  when  he  entered  the  supper-room,  erect  and  manly,  his 
head  thrown  back  a  little,  his  lips  half  parted  with  the  peculiar 
satisfaction  looking  so  like  a  smile,  crowned  with  his  bright 
hair,  and  the  seal  of  spirit  and  intelligence  upon  his  broad 
brow,  Janet  McRae  envied  the  quiet  little  woman  opposite, 
longing  to  go  up  and  throw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
call  him  son — a  son  of  the  house  indeed.  Why  had  she  not 
thought  of  the  Hursts  long  ago  ? 

She  was  in  wonderful  spirits  that  evening,  and  kept  him  by 
her  side  most  of  the  ti&e.  So  Sylvia  and  Doctor  Trewartha 
played  chess  and  flirted  abominably:  she  in  her  eager  child's 
fashion,  he  in  the  half-fatherly,  half-teasing  manner  so  natural 
to  him.  For  in  his  mind  Sylvia  Redmond  would  always  be 
the  little  child  he  had  carried  through  a  long  and  dangerous 
illness  at  her  cousin  Braisted's,  while  her  fashionable  mother 
was  enjoying  the  gay  world.  And  he  used  to  think  sometimes 
if  fate  had  given  him  just  such  a  daughter — never  such  a 
wife. 


216  With  Fate  against  Him. 

But  Ruth  Gamier,  not  knowing  that,  sat  with  her  calm, 
white,  unmoved  face,  joining  the  talk  now  and  then  when 
appealed  to  by  Mrs.  McRae,  and  at  others  listening  to  the  dull 
thud,  thud  in  her  heart,  and  wondering  for  the  first  time  if  it 
was  to  go  on  with  all  that  gnawing  pain  until  she  were  eighty. 

For  a  week  it  rained.  Sometimes  a  torrent,  at  others  a 
drizzle,  carrying  off  at  last  the  muddy  remnants  of  snow  from 
the  roads  and  fields,  leaving  only  a  faint  line  beside  the  edge 
of  the  forest  and  under  the  fences.  The  air  had  softened  to 
spring  mildness,  and  when  the  sun  came  out  at  last  you  could 
almost  believe  it  May. 

That  morning  Sylvia  went  home,  after  urgent  entreaties 
from  the  three  Misses  Braisted.  Doctor  Trewartha  settled  her 
snugly  in  his  wagon  and  wrapped  her  well  with  the  lap-blanket, 
that  her  bright  soft  dress  might  not  be  spattered  with  the  mud. 
She  had  kissed  Mrs.  McRae  and  Ruth,  and  nodded  carelessly 
to  Victor  Hurst.  Every  day  there  had  been  some  sharp  little 
contest  between  them,  growing  more  covert,  and  perhaps  more 
bitter ;  all  because  he  chose  to  put  so  wide  a  distance  between 
them  ;  all  because  he  had  not  opened  the  flower-garden  of 
his  heart  and  let  her  pluck  or  despoil  as  she-chose.  Of  course 
that  great  grim  ogress, — she  had  been  kissing  the  firm,  soft, 
and  hardly  wrinkled  cheek  not  a  moment  ago — meant  to 
marry  him  to  Ruth. 

Well,  let  them  do  as  they  liked. 

"Well,"  Doctor  Trewartha  said,  when  they  had  gone  half 
their  distance,  "no  tears  yet?  My  j^etty  speeches  of  comfort 
are  fast  melting  into  the  chaos  of  unlimited  thought  again  " 

"  WThy  should  I  cry?"  scornfully. 

"  It  is  an  old  trick  of  womankind,  my  dear.  I  do  not  like 
to  see  you-  so  much  more  stoical  than  the  rest  of  your 
sex. " 

"You  are  laughing  at  me.  Well,  I  am  sorry  to  go  away 
from  Mrs.  Hurst, — she  is  so  sweet  and  sad,  and  has  had  a  life 
full  of  trials,"  over  which  Sylvia  sighed.  "But  the  rest—" 


With  Fate  against  Him.  217 

"Well,  the  rest?  Are  you  out  of  Madame  Janet's  good 
graces  ?" 

There  was  a  peculiar  look  in  Doctor  Trewartha's  keen,  per 
plexing  eyes. 

"  I  am  neither  out  nor  in,"  with  a  half  indignant  emphasis. 
"They  are  all  so  full  of  their  own  concerns  now,"  impatiently 
dragging  up  the  blanket.  "  He  will  marry  her,  of  course  ;" 
with  a  wise  and  piquant  nod. 

"Marry — who?" 

"  Oh,  you  see  it  all,  Doctor  Trewartha  ;  I  have  watched  you 
sometimes  studying  Miss  Garnier's  face, — it  is  handsome 
enough,  only  it  has  no  soul  in  it ;  and  I  know  you  have  thought 
of  it — you  could  not  help  it.  She  means  them  to  marry.  She 
places  them  together  everywhere.  And  they  are  puppets  !"  with 
a  flush  of  indignation.  "  I  guessed  at  the  plan  before  you  all 
came,  and  told  Ruth." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?"  and  Trewartha's  voice  was  husky. 

"Say  ?  nothing.  Her  slow  brain  is  just  like  her  solid  flesh. 
The  one  loves  ease,  comfort,  luxury,  and  the  other  rarely  takes 
the  trouble  to  think  for  itself." 

"Midge,  I  thought  you  loved  her?  Do  women  so  under 
rate  their  friends  ?" 

"  I  do  love  her,"  with  a  trembling  passionate  emphasis.  "  I 
don't  want  to  underrate  her.  She  is  good  and  tender  ;  but  to 
like  a  man — at  another's  bidding — " 

"Is  a  heinous  crime." 

Something  in  his  deep  tone  startled  her.  She  was  flushed 
and  nervous,  and  began  picking  at  her  glove-fingers. 

"You  fancy  she  could  do  this,  Midge  ?" 

"She  will,  I  know.  Well,  why  should  she  not — out  of 
gratitude  ?" 

"  And  he — but  you  do  not  like  him  over  well  ?" 

She  flushed  deeper  at  this,  and  the  drooping  lids  trembled 
over  her  cheek,  but  she  thought  her  face  most  calm  and 
reticent. 

10 


218  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"Well,  child,"  he  said,  a  little  sharply,  "we  have  nothing  to 
do  with  their  fates." 

"Nothing." 

"So  let  us  leave  the  guessing  alone.  Mrs.  McRae  knows 
her  own  mind  best." 

"But  it  is  patent  to  every  one." 

"Pooh,  child!" 

With  that  he  reined  up  the  horse,  handed  her  out,  and  spent 
ten  minutes  in  Miss  Rachel  Braisted's  quaint  parlor,  listening 
to  the  low-voiced  thee  and  thou,  and  the  choicely-expressed 
thanks  for  his  courtesy. 

He  let  the  reins  lay  loosely  over  the  horse's  neck  as  he  went 
on,  dropping  his  broad  shoulders,  and  allowing  his  eyes  to 
stray  out  to  the  dim  distance  of  the  horizon. 

"  It  is  time  there  came  a  break  in  the  play  for  you,  Midge  ; 
but  after  all,  yours  is  only  a  child's  changeful  fancy.  What  is 
that  compared  to  what  might  be  a  man's  strong  love  ?" 

Above,  the  blue  sky  was  flecked  with  tiny  fleets  of  white 
shadows  sailing  to  unknown  seas.  How  calm  and  tranquil ! 
If  life  would  flow  on  like  that !  He  so  liked  ease  and  indolence 
and  pleasant  cheer.  He  liked  to  go  over  to  Cragness,  and  have 
a  half-laughing,  half-satirical  argument  with  Mrs.  McRae,  and 
watch  Ruth  Gamier  budding  slowly,  like  some  great  white 
creamy  lily.  He  had  promised  himself  a  rare  treat  in  the 
blossoming. 

"But  is  it  worth  the  trouble?"  he  mused.  "I  should  want 
to  rouse  the  flame,  the  fine  spirit, — and  why  should  I  torment 
myself  again  with  passion  dreams  ?  Youth  to  youth — that  is 
best  Let  her  plans  prosper." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

VICTOR  and  Ruth  had  watched  Sylvia's  departure, — the  one 
with  a  feeling  of  relief,  the  other,  pain.  During  the  ten  days 
she  had  exercised  a  very  peculiar  influence  over  Victor  Hurst. 
She  either  ignored  or  had  forgotten  the  past, — the  latter,  he 
believed  ;  and  she  took  every  opportunity  to  enforce  the  distinc 
tion  between  them.  He,  a  poor  clergyman's  son,  had  small 
right  to  aspire  to  even  the  merest  friendship.  She  had  shown 
him  that. 

And  yet  how  deliciously  sweet  she  had  been  to  the  others : 
to  his  mother,  to  his  poor  father.  He  could  hear  her  voice 
now  as  she  had  sat  singing  in  the  twilight.  They  all  treated 
her  as  a  pretty,  spoiled  child  ;  but  to  him,  she  had  been  a  lofty, 
scornful  woman. 

There  was  a  soreness  in  his  heart  that  led  him  to  exag 
gerate  every  little  act.  Yet  his  ambition  was  not  all  dead. 
Some  day  he  would  stand  before  her,  having  won  at  least  one 
of  the  great  prizes  of  life.  He  would  ask  nothing  from  her 
then,  only  prove  that  a  man  without  birth  or  wealth  could 
attain  to  some  height. 

But  Ruth,  in  her  slow  way,  beat  her  breast  mentally,  and 
cried — "Why  am  I  so  unlike  other  women  ?  Why  does  Doctor 
Trewartha  smile  if  she  but  raises  her  dainty  hand,  and  watch 
the  light  coming  and  going  in  her  eyes,  as  if  it  brought  tidings 
from  an  unseen  world  ?" 

For  she  had  a  consciousness  that  her  eyes  never  kindled,  that 
her  voice  never  fell  into  soft  inflections,  that  the  pretty,  pictur 
esque  turns  of  head  and  hand,  the  trick  of  smile  and  blush, 
were  rarely  hers.  And  this  was  what  men  liked. 


220  With  Fate  against  Him. 

She  turned  abruptly  from  the  window,  hurt  and  chilled  by 
the  revelations  of  herself.  Her  habits  hitherto  had  been  of 
external  perception  and  appreciation  only,  and  she  had  never 
comprehended  hei  inner  self,  or  indeed  thought  of  that  self  or 
its  needs. 

Left  alone,  Victor  Hurst  glanced  up  at  Mrs.  McRae,  who  had 
gone  back  to  her  writing.  This  private  account  she  always 
kept  herself.  A  thorough,  methodical,  business  woman,  who 
would  not  rest  while  anything  was  left  at  loose  ends. 

He  came  and  stood  by  her,  noted  the  strong,  sinewy  frame, 
the  fresh,  healthy  skin,  the  mane  of  white  hair  which  had 
never  been  fine,  but  was  still  so  abundant  that  she  wore  no 
cap,  and  the  long  fingers  grasping  the  pen.  The  writing  was 
like  herself,  large  and  clear  rather  than  handsome,  and  with 
no  tremulous  lines  such  as  women  of  her  age  usually 
made. 

She  finished  the  page,  glanced  up,  and  said,  inquiringly, 
"Well?" 

He  did  not  tremble  now  at  the  sharp  ring  in  her  voice,  nor 
the  steady  look  of  the  keen  blue  eyes. 

' '  I  want  to  talk  to  you. " 

"Sit  down,  sit  down  ;"  in  her  commanding  way. 

"No,  I  prefer  to  stand."  He  felt  more  independent  there 
in  his  full  height  before  her. 

She  waited  for  him  to  go  on.  She  almost  guessed  what  was 
in  his  mind,  but  he  should  have  no  help  from  her. 

"You  remember,  when  we  spoke  of  my  coming,  that  I — 
that — "  and  he  stumbled  sadly  in  his  desire  not  to  offend,  to 
be  as  polite  and  suave  as  Doctor  Trewartha — "that  I  came  to 
work." 

"But  surely  a  brief  holiday  can  be  tolerated?"  in  a  rather 
softer  voice  than  usual. 

"  Mine  has  not  been  brief.  Since  the  middle  of  November 
I  have  not  done  anything." 

She  paused  to  consider,  a  rare  thing  with  her ;  but  Trewartha 


With  'Fate  against  Him.  221 

had  said,  warningly,  "Be  careful  how  you  proceed,  if  you  are 
really  anxious  to  attach  him  to  yourself." 

"I  have  been  looking  over  the  mill,"  he  began.  "  I  do  not 
think  I  am  needed  there.  The  business  is  carried  on  admirably." 

There  was  a  touch  in  this  that  won  her  ;  it  was  so  like 
appreciation. 

"Yes;"  nodding  her  large,  well-shaped  head.  "Yes,  I 
think  I  can  prove  that  women  possess  some  administrative 
talent.  You  have  been  round  the  village  ?" 

"Yes.     With  Doctor  Trewartha. " 

"I  wanted  to  take  you  myself,  but  I  have  been  so  busy, 
and  the  roads  were  wretched,  though  I  did  not  mind  that  so 
much.  I  pride  myself  upon  that  settlement.  I  have  solved 
some  of  the  difficult  questions,  I  believe ;"  with  a  touch  of 
triumph.  "  The  hands  down  there  are  paid  fair  wages,  and  get 
them  regularly  every  Saturday  night.  Their  rents  are  reason 
able,  their  living  is  not  subject  to  many  fluctuations,  for  a 
market  there  is  better  than  one  twenty  or  a  hundred  miles 
distant,  as  I  have  finally  beaten  it  into  our  farmers'  narrow 
brains.  There  is  a  good  school,  a  church,  but  no  rum 
shops. " 

"You  are  right  in  that  respect." 

"  Yes,"  biting  the  end  of  her  pen-holder  reflectively.  "The 
greater  part  of  the  misery  in  the  world  comes  from  dram- 
drinking.  I  put  my  foot  down  there  !"  and  she  thrust  it  out 
with  a  forcible  gesture.  "It  leads  to  idleness,  thriftlessness, 
crime,  in  both  men  and  women.  I  have  had  some  cases  of 
insubordination  ;  but  no  man  stays  there  unless  he  can  work 
and  behave  himself.  Then  the  way  is  easy  enough.  There  is 
no  poor-house  needed,  there  are  no  paupers,  and  yet  it  is  not 
because  the  wages  are  high.  The  working-classes  need  just 
enough.  Too  much  begets  extravagance  and  indolence." 

"It  is  difficult  to  tell  what  is  just  enough  for  every  one." 

"I  think  not — I  think  not!"  repeating  the  words  \vi  h 
emphasis. 


222  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"One  man  may  have  sickness,  bad  luck,  loss  of  employ 
ment — " 

"There  is  no  such  here,"  she  interrupted.  "  I  have  kept 
the  mill  running. two  winters  when  there  was  no  demand, 
simply  that  the  men  might  not  fall  into  idle  habits,  or  have 
an  excuse  for  discontent.  If  they  want  to  go,  they  are  quite 
free  so  to  do  ;  but  they  shall  not  stay  here  and  incite  others  to 
rebellion."  And  the  blue  eyes  sparkled  with  vigorous  deter 
mination. 

"You  could  do  it  on  a  small  scale, "  he  said ;  "but  you 
would  fail  on  a  larger  plan." 

"Fail!  And  why?"  She  rapped  her  knuckles  on  the 
edge  of  the  old-fashioned  mahogany  desk,  and  her  clear  cheek 
flushed. 

"It  is  not  controlling  a  hundred  or  two;  it's  thousands  of 
every  kind.  A  good,  steady,  sober  man  may,  after  all,  be  an 
indifferent  workman  ;  and  a  miserable  sot,  who  will  not  work 
more  than  three  days  in  a  week,  may  be  able  to  do  you  more 
real  good.  You  have  to  allow  for  such  cases.  Then  in  cities 
rents  are  high,  provisions  fluctuate,  coal  is  often  very  expensive, 
and  the  poor  crowd  in  any  kind  of  places  where  they  can  find 
shelter." 

"  But  why  will  they  all  rush  to  the  cities  ?" 

Victor  smiled  oddly,  and  yet  with  a  little  contempt. 

"  Because  there  is  work  for  them  to  do  in  cities." 

"There  would  be  as  much  work  in  the  country  if  men 
would  stay  and  do  it." 

"I  think  not.  Capital  goes  where  it  can  find  the  best  invest 
ment,  make  the  most  money  on  the  smallest  outlay.  How 
long  has  your  mill  been  in  successful  operation  ?"* 

' '  Twelve  years  since  I  have  managed  it  alone.  It  was  at 
loose  ends  before." 

"And  how  much  money  have  you  made?" 

She  was  startled  a  little  at  the  straightforward  question 

"I  did  not  set  out  to  make  money,"  sharply. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  223 

• 
"  That  is  the  difference.     A  man  who  did  not  need  money 

would  not  soil  his  aristocratic  fingers  with  trade  ;"  a  bitter  smile 
playing  about  his  lips.  "And  the  man  who  means  to  make 
it,  grinds  up  everything  which  comes  in  his  way — bodies,  souls, 
wives,  and  children.  They  come  at  his  beck  when  there's 
plently  to  do,  and  at  other  times  half  starve,  or  crowd  alms- 
houses  and  police-stations." 

"And  drink  bad  rum.  They're  an  improvident,  thriftless 
set.  Why,  down  yonder  there's  scarcely  a  man  but  has  a  bank 
account." 

"  And  in  the  cities  some  of  them  own  their  houses.  They 
are  not  all  so  careless  as  you  think  ;  but  still  you  cannot  have 
them  all  cast  in  the  same  mould.  There's  immigration  and 
the  continual  change  the — forces  working  against  them  hardly 
balanced  by  those  working  for  them.  And  the  dull  times — " 

"Victor,"  she  began,  decisively,  "there  are  men  in  large 
cities  who  carry  on  business  at  a  sacrifice  even  in  dull  times." 

"And  how?"  his  cheek  flushing.  "They  cut  down  wages 
because  they  say  there  is  no  demand  ;  and  for  three  or  six 
months  .get  their  work  done  for  two-thirds  its  value.  Then 
business  stirs  up,  and  they  are  first  in  the  field  to  reap  the 
advantage." 

"But  they  kept  their  men  from  starving  through  a  long 
winter,  mayhap." 

"Let  them  call  things  by  their  right  name,  then.  Business 
and  sharp  practice  is  one  thing,  philanthropy  another." 

"But  it  could  be  made  to  agree  by  skilful  management." 

She  was  so  proud  of  her  success  that  she  thought  she  could 
rule  a  state.  Her  keen  eyes  sparkled  with  latent  vigor. 

"It  is  a  greater  question  than  you  think.  I  once  fancied 
that  I  could  help  solve  it." 

"And  made  a  miserable  flash  ;"  with  a  harsh  laugh,  as  if 
there  was  something  in  his  discomfiture  to  enjoy. 

"Yes,"  wincing  and  shivering,  but  trying  to  bite  the  color 
back  into  his  lips.  "In  our  case,  it  was  just  as  I  said.  There 


224  With  Fate  against  Him. 

• 

were  at  least  six  months'  orders  on  hand,  but  trade  in  many 
places  was  dull.  Norcross  could  have  gone  on  paying  the 
wages  ;  and  heaven  knows  it  was  likely  to  be  a  hard  winter,  with 
coal  and  provisions  so  high.  So  the  employers  thought  it  was 
their  turn,  and  he  joined  with  the  rest.  Why  shouldn't  he  ? 
It  was  his  side,"  smiling  bitterly. 

"And  if  you  men  had  gone  on,  waiting  till  spring — ?" 

"The  strike  would  have  been  successful  then.  But  you 
forget — we  did  not  ask  for  more — only  the  same.  We  found 
it  hard  enough  to  manage  on  that ;  at  least  the  men  with  wives 
and  children  did." 

He  turned  partly  away  from  her  now.  She  ran  her  eyes 
briefly  over  the  tall  figure,  so  firm,  supple,  and  graceful ;  the 
purely-cut  features,  with  their  strength  and  beauty,  that  could 
never  detract  from  vigor  and  force,  for  all  the  nose  was  so 
slender  and  sensitive,  the  skin  fine  and  clear  as  a  girl's,  the 
hair  silken  soft. 

"No,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  perplexity  ;  "you  do  not 
know  anything  about  it.  The  world,  after  all,  is  so  great, 
though  the  little  cycles  may  be  much  alike,  so  much  that  they 
deceive  one.  And  we  are  all  so  strangely  connected.  A  man 
raises  his  hand  and  puts  a  whole  city  in  motion  ;  and  his  deed 
for  good  or  evil  reacts  upon  thousands.  Our  minds  are  so 
narrow,  and  there  are  many  influences  that  we  cannot  grasp." 

She  saw  the  dreamy  eyes  resting  on  the  far  blue  mountains, 
with  a  look  in  them  she  could  not  fathom  ;  and  aught  that 
baffled  her  keen  vision  annoyed  her. 

"Well,"  she  went  on,  with  a  kind  of  bitter  energy,  "that 
part  of  your  life  has  proved  a  failure.  You'll  turn  a  new  leaf 
here.  It  is  a  mystery  to  me,  though,  how  John  Hurst  came 
to  put  you  at  a  trade.  Was  it  your  fancy  ?"  eyeing  him  sharply. 

"It  was  not  my  fancy — no." 

"How  then?"      . 

"We  were  poor,  of  course.  If  we  had  been  rich — "  with 
a  vision  of  Doctor  Trewartha  before  him.  "And  he  did  not 


With  Fate  against  Him.  225 

exactly  know  what  to  do  with  me.     It  is  hard  to  look  into  a 
soul  so  unlike  your  own — " 

She  thought  of  the  contrast  between  him  and  John  Hurst, 
and  wanted  to  believe  that  the  pride  of  a  long  line  of  ancestry 
had  culminated  in  him  :  McRae  blood,  of  course. 

"  He  did  the  best  he  knew.  I  shall  always  say  that  for  him, 
now,"  fiercely,  as  if  some  one  had  challenged  the  statement. 
"I  suppose  I  was  wild,  headstrong,  unreasoning.  The  four 
years'  discipline  would  be  good  for  me,  he  thought.  So  I  was 
put  at  something  my  whole  soul  loathed." 

She  saw  it  in  the  distended  nostrils,  where  the  fine  red  veins 
came  so  suddenly  to  the  surface ;  in  the  firmly-set  scarlet 
mou:h  ;  the  little  frown  contracting  the  brows. 

"Well?"  She  was  elated  to  have  him  tell  the  story  of  his 
life  over  to  her,  for  he  had  hitherto  been  so  reticent. 

"There  were  some  good  men  in  the  shop,  some  who  were 
low  and  ignorant ;  but  they  made  amends  in  brawn  and  skill. 
There  was  laughing,  coarse  jesting,  songs,  and  treats.  You 
gave  your  ten  hours'  work,  amid  smoke,  and  grime,  and  noise, 
and  felt  vilely  unclean  at  night,  at  least  I  did  :  tired  in  brain 
and  body.  The  offset  to  this  was  a  good  business  at  which 
you  could  get  work  when  times  were  brisk  and  shops  not 
over-crowded.  I  believe  I  hated  the  rabble." 

She  always  scouted  the  idea  of  aristocracy.  The  McRaes  had 
been  plain  untitled  people,  and  she  was  a  thorough  old  demo 
crat  ;  yet  she  liked  the  flash  of  pride  in  the  last  of  the  McRaes, 
the  heir  of  the  broad  lands. 

"  I  meant  to  go  away  when  I  was  through." 

"  Where  ?     What  did  you  expect  to  do  ?" 

"  My  mind  was  not  quite  clear.  I  had  a  friend  there — 
well,"  thrusting  down  the  old  phantoms — "I  could  not  leave — 
him."  Somehow  he  felt  that  he  should  stumble  over  the  word 
"father"  just  now,  with  her  hawk's  eyes  upon  him.  For 
though  his  face  was  partially  turned  away,  he  knew  that  she 
was  minutely  inspecting  it. 

10* 


226  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"You  were  a  good  son  in  that  respect,  and  I  think  filial 
gratitude  hardly  one  of  the  modern  virtues.  You  will  have 
your  reward." 

"He  cared  for  me  in  my  infancy.  It  is  simple  payment 
I  mean,  not  reward." 

She  twisted  the  leaves  of  her  book  absently.  Ready  and 
straightforward,  even  to  rudeness,  as  she  often  was,  she  hesitated 
a  little  here. 

He  was  thinking  over  the  other  miserable  failure,  the  time 
he  had  fancied  himself  a  genius,  and  the  bitter  awakening. 

"So  when  I  could  not  have  culture,  refinement,  time  for 
study,  and  all  that ;  when  I  found  my  place  was  in  the  ranks 
with  the  others,  I  made  a  desperate  strike  for  myself  and  them, 
and  was  worsted.  That  is  all.  I  am  ready  to  begin  anew.  I 
shall  not  soon  quarrel  with  fate." 

She  had  a  secret  misgiving,  from  the  repressed  look  in  his 
face  and  the  determined  closing  of  the  lips,  that  it  was  nol  all. 
"  I  am  ready  for  my  work,"  in  a  low  resolute  tone. 
It  was  her  turn  now.     She  shut  the  book  with  an  impatient 
force,  as  if  it  had  offended  her. 

"Victor  Hurst,"  she  began,  clearing  her  throat  and  raising 
her  neck  out  of  the  folds  of  lace  that  she  always  wore  inside  her 
dress,  "I  had  a  purpose  in  bringing  you  hither.  I  think  your 
father  made  a  mistake  in  choosing  a  distasteful  occupation  for 
you  ;  but  we  will  not  quarrel  with  that  since  it  has  made  us 
friends,  or  at  least  been  the  means  of  drawing  us  together.  I 
never  had  son  or  daughter,  and  I  believe  your  mother  and 
myself  are  the  last  of  a  long  line." 

A  dim  fear  seized  upon  Victor,  and  his  heart  beat  almost  to 
suffocation. 

"  I  ask  you,  therefore,  to  carry  on  the  family  name  in  this 
old  place  after  I  am  sleeping  down  there  in  the  graveyard  of 
the  McRaes. " 

His  face  flushed  a  deep  and  painful  crimson,  and  there  was 
a  constriction  in  his  throat,  as  if  a  serpent  were  winding  its 


With  Fate  against  Him.  227 

strangling  coils  around.  A  mad,  desperate  pang  at  his  heart, 
a  fiery  heat  in  every  pulse,  and  a  sense  of  bitter,  bitter  loss  by 
no  fault  of  his  own. 

She  misread  it  for  embarrassment,  surprise,  and  gratitude. 
Rising  she  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  Yes,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  touch  of  emotion,  bowing  her 
stately  head  a  little,  "  be  my  son  as  well  as  hers.  I  am  not 
given  to  the  frequent  asking  of  favors." 

She  had  not  imagined  anything  like  this.  She  was  to  be 
stately,  impressive  ;  bestow  her  good  gifts  with  the  grandeur  of 
a  queen,  and  have  him  the  grateful,  humble  recipient.  Instead, 
a  strange  touch  of  longing,  unfulfilled  motherhood,  that  made 
her  the  suppliant  as  it  were. 

For  an  instant  a  fierce,  passionate  tide  swept  over  him — a 
current  so  strong  that  he  unconsciously  bowed  his  head,  while 
his  face  turned  ashen  gray.  Oh,  if  he  might  take  these  honors, 
this  home,  that  he  had  learned  to  love  already.  If  there  were 
no  vile,  hateful  stain  to  mar  the  past. 

He  thrust  down  the  spasm  of  anguish  with  a  fierce  gesture. 
It  was  so  terrible,  so  maddening. 

"  Oh/'  he  exclaimed,  "  why  do  you  ask  this  ?  What  do  you 
know  of  me,  to  be  willing  to  place  that  much  in  a  stranger's 
hands  ?  Wait.  Try  me.  I  may  offend  in  a  thousand  things. 
You  have  been  too  hasty." 

"  Perhaps  1  have,"  hurt  by  his  abrupt  manner,  and  the  utter 
absence  of  tenderness  or  gratitude  ;  "but  I  meant  to  give  you 
— the  work  and  duties  of  a  son." 

"I  am  not  ready  for  them,"  almost  brusquely.  "And  you 
trust  too  easily.  I  have  failed  in  other  undertakings,  and  I 
dare  not  accept  such  risks.  No,  I  dare  not,"  shaking  his  tawny 
mane  like  a  wild  beast  at  bay. 

"We  will  wait,  then,"  she  returned,  with  a  touch  of  the  old 
sharpness.  She  was  not  used  to  being  thwarted  and  refused  in 
this  manner.  This  young  fellow  whom  she  had  rescued  from 
—and  his  helpless  parents  up-stairs — 


228  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Yet  she  started  at  some  hidden  pain  in  the  tense  lines  of  his 
face,  and  the  pale,  compressed  lips,  as  if  a  vital  chord  had 
been  jarred  roughly. 

"Try  me  first,"  he  said,  with  a  hoarse  undertone  in  his 
voice,  and  his  hands  working  nervously.  "Perhaps  I  should 
not  be  fitted  for  the  life." 

And  this  when  every  instinct  of  his  soul  cried  out  for  it. 
Secretly,  in  the  far  depths,  he  cursed  the  restless  rebellion  that 
had  been  the  cause  of  it  all.  If  he  had  never  known  his  mother's 
secret !  If  he  could  stand  here  and  meet  Janet  McRae's  clear 
eyes  as  John  Hurst's  lawful  son  !  But  to  come  with  a  base 
falsehood  in  his  soul,  something  that  the  world  called  shame, 
and  that  she  would  shrink  from — no,  it  could  not  be  done. 

"Very  well."  She  cleared  her  voice  angrily,  and  there  was 
a  feverish  heat  in  her  eyes.  "  I  received  this  letter  yesterday — 
taking  one  from  her  desk — "there  was  some  talk  of  it  last 
summer.  If  I  undertake  it  there  must  be  a  capable  and  effi 
cient  man  placed  in  charge.  There  is  money  in  the  quarry,  I 
know. " 

He  studied  the  letter.  A  large  Romish  church  was  to  be 
built  in  the  adjoining  town,  and  this  being  the  nearest  quarry, 
as  well  as  containing  stone  of  the  required  quality,  a  proposi 
tion  had  been  forwarded  to  Mrs.  McRae. 

"  I  am  no  judge  of  such  matters,"  briefly  ;  "but  I  think  I 
could  attend  to  the  business  part.  Was  it  a  kind  of  overseer 
you  needed  ?" 

"Yes,"  biting  off  her  word.  "There  might  be  something 
pleasanter. " 

"Few  men  work  for  pleasure,  I  think.  I  desire  to  make  a 
home  for  my  parents — forgive  me,  but  I  do  not  want  them  to 
be  a  burden  on  your  charity." 

"  My  charity  ?"  with  a  sound  of  scorn  in  the  voice,  "  I  sup 
pose  I  can  do  what  I  like  with  my  own  ?  And  who,  pray, 
has  a  better  claim  on  it  than  my  cousin  ?" 

"  No  one,  perhaps,  when  it  comes  to  that,"  he  replied,  with 


With  Fate  against  Him.  229 

the  bluntness  of  truth.  "  It  was  for  her  sake  that  I  consented. 
You  have  been  very  kind—"  his  voice  faltering  over  the  ache 
and  agony  within,  the  secret  wrong  and  silent  endurance — 
"and  it  is  right  that  I  should  tell  you — when  I  can  be  spared, 
I  expect  to  go  away.  I  may  be  gone  years." 

There  was  a  perceptible  quiver  about  her  rather  heavy  lips, 
that  now,  when  she  was  vexed,  lost  the  rosy  hue  of  their  far  back 
youth.  Go  away  when  she  had  brought  him  here  as  a  stay  for 
her  old  age  ?  Why,  how  unthankful  he  was  ! 

Yet  her  usual  presence  of  mind  did  not  desert  her  even  if 
she  had  lost  her  temper.  She  prided  herself  upon  managing 
men,  and  her  life  had  been  a  series  of  successes.  She  was 
shrewd  and  discriminating,  and  in  her  silent  way  fathomed 
many  a  secret,  as  if,  after  all,  most  secrets  were  not  merely  a 
question  of  time,  and  sooner  or  later  cried  on  the  house-tops. 
Meaning  to  rule  this  man's  soul  in  the  end,  she  resigned  her 
self  with  a  semblance  of  patience  now. 

"It  is  time,  then,  that  we  were  about  this,"  she  said,  with 
her  olden  briskness.  "  Laborers  must  be  hunted  up,  and  the 
whole  thing  put  in  working  order.  You  will  take  the  charge?" 

"So  far  as  I  am  able,"  bowing  his  head. 

"I  must  see  Trewartha  immediately  ;"  and  ringing  the  bell, 
she  ordered  the  carriage. 

He  was  a  little  disappointed  that  she  did  not  ask  him  to 
accompany  her.  He  watched  her  gather  up  the  reins  in  her 
strong  hand,  encased  in  its  fine  buckskin  driving-glove ;  for 
she  had  a  dainty  lady's  refinement  in  some  matters.  When  she 
was  out  of  sight  he  went  up-stairs  to  his  mother,  striving  on 
the  way  to  thrust  out  of  sight  all  traces  of  the  pain  that  had  so 
bitterly  wrenched  his  soul. 

The  two  rooms  opened  into  one  another,  and  made  a  long, 
pleasant  vista.  John  Hurst  had  been  drawn  to  the  farthest 
window,  and  was  looking  out  in  a  half-dreamy,  vacant  way.  It 
was  strange  to  think  how  much  he  had  softened  ;  and  though 
he  sometimes  expressed  a  little  misgiving  about  accepting  all 


230  WitJi  Fate  against  Him. 

this  luxury  when  there  were  so  many  needy  ones  in  the  world, 
Anah  would  say — 

"  I  am  sure  you  deserve  something  for  your  life  of  sacrifice 
and  toil.  I  am  glad  it  has  come  to  you." 

"  We  deserve  nothing  but  wrath  for  our  sins  and  unfaithful 
ness.  It  is  His  mercy  only." 

Then  Anah  would  wonder  how  she  dared  to  feel  so  happy 
and  at  ease.  Was  God  more  generous  than  this  man  had 
taken  Him  to  be  ?  She  began  to  think  so,  now  that  she  was 
out  of  the  wearing  round  of  poverty  and  sin,  so  closely  con 
nected  indeed. 

Victor  came  and  spoke  gently  to  his  father,  who  clasped  the 
firm  young  hand  in  his  so  withered  and  trembling.  Now  and 
then  some  little  touch  of  love  almost  unmanned  his  soul.  In 
his  unreason  and  ignorance  he  had  blundered  so  stupidly.  If 
he  could  only  go  back  two  years  ! 

His  mother  saw  the  secret  significance  in  his  face,  and  when 
he  went  through  to  his  own  chamber,  followed  him. 

They  not  unfrequently  held  little  confidences  here  in  a  low 
tone,  for  John  Hurst's  hearing  had  failed  him  perceptibly,  and 
they  had  a  feeling  of  perfect  security  within  their  own  apart 
ments. 

He  hurried  briefly  over  Mrs.  McRae's  proposal. 

"If  it  could  be  !" 

There  was  a  little  longing  and  clinging  in  the  mother's  heart. 
It  was  the  pleasant,  genial,  yet  bracing  atmosphere  that  her  son 
needed.  He  looked  like  a  very  prince  to  her  eyes,  standing 
there  in  his  manly  beauty.  Why  must  he  go  down  with  the 
hedgersand  ditchers  of  life  because  she  had  unwittingly  chanced 
to  believe  in  one  man's  falsehood  ? 

"But  it  cannot."  He  took  the  hand  that  dropped  so  help 
lessly  by  her  side  tenderly  in  his.  "It  cannot,  you  know. 
Peculiar  as  she  is,  and  little  given  to  respecting  many  of  the 
world's  opinions,  still  honor  is  honor  with  her,  and  truth 
truth.  I  don't  know  that  she  would  forgive  either  weakness 


With  Fate  against  Him.  231 

or  cowardice.     Could  we  stay  with  our  secret  told  ?  and  oh,  I 
need  not  ask  you  if  we  could  stay  with  it  untold." 

"No;"  plucking  weakly  at  his  sleeve,  a  terrified  light 
wavering  in  her  soft  dark  eyes. 

"  It  seems  as  if  I  had  learned  so  much  in  a  few  months  ;'' 
his  voice  singularly  calm  and  sad.  "I  thought  last  summer 
that  I  could  fight  against  God  and  fate  ;  indeed,  I  made  my 
self  believe  there  was  no  God  but  human  will.  I  know  now 
that  there  is  something  stronger." 

"There  is,  there  is  !"  longing  to,  and  yet  unable  to  explain  it. 

"There  is  something  in  me  that  I  want  to  work  out  when 
I  find  a  fair  chance.  No,  it's  not  the  painting  ;"  with  a  ghostly 
sort  of  smile.  "Going  through  Doctor  Trewartha's  house 
quenched  the  last  lingering  ray  of  that  conceit.  I  do  not  envy 
Lowndes  now.  Let  him  glory  in  his  small  triumphs.  Some 
day  I  believe  that  I  shall  find  a  voice  for  the  great  dumb  ache 
in  my  heart.  There  are  many  years  before  me." 

Her  eager,  devouring  eyes  assented,  for  her  tongue  seemed 
dry  and  powerless. 

"I  told  her  that  I  meant  to  go  away.  I  will  not  deceive 
her  into  any  act  of  generosity.  If  I  can  keep  a  comfortable 
home  for  you  while  he  lives,  and  study  myself  a  little,  it  is  all  I 
ask  now.  Then  you  can  go  with  me  or — stay — " 

"  I  am  your  mother;"  with  a  little  cry  of  pain,  half  smoth 
ered -in  its  birth.  "I  can  never  forget  what  I  have  brought 
upon  you." 

"Hush,  dear,"  taking  her  in  his  strong  arms,  "someday  may 
be  we  shall  see  the  use  of  it,  though  we  can  only  grope  among 
thorns  now.  I  was  proud,  self-willed,  daring,  putting  my  own 
wisdom  above  all  other,  as  I  told  you.  Perhaps  it  was  right 
that  this  should  come  upon  me,  to  teach  me  the  better  to 
appreciate  his  life  of  sacrifice.  I  can  understand  now  why  he 
felt  it  such  a  sacred  duty  to  watch  over  me." 

"  Yes,  he  knew  what  might  be  feared,"  in  a  furtive,  anxious 
way. 


232  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"He  knew  what  I  inherited.  I  suppose  he  saw  the  devil 
often — "  with  a  short,  bitter  laugh.  "  He  would  not  want  me 
to  mistake  it  for  an  angel  ;"  remembering  how  proud  he  had 
been  of  his  fine,  lofty,  restless  instincts. 

"He  did  his  best." 

"  I  believe  you — and  him.  A  different  life  might  have  ren 
dered  him  less  morbidly  conscientious,  but  he  was  good, 
earnest.  And  we  will  do  our  duty  to  the  very  end,  not  like 
slaves  who  bear  a  chain  about  with  them,  but  from  a  higher 
motive.  After  that,  if  you  elect  to  share  my  fate,  we  will  never 
be  separated.  It  will  not  be  the  old,  foolish  rambling  with 
Paul  Latour." 

So  God  had  answered  her  prayer  and  given  her  back  her 
boy  !  As  if  to  balance  the  exquisite  thrill,  another  fear  entered 
her  brain. 

"  Did  you  offend  Mrs.  McRae  ?  She  has  been  so  generous  !" 
with  a  remorseful  strand  in  her  voice. 

"I  believe  I  disappointed  her  sorely.  Mother,  when  it 
comes  to  the  last  we  will  tell  her  the  truth.  For  where  we 
shall  go  it  will  be  blotted  out  forever." 

She  drew  a  hard,  repressed  breath. 

"And  if  I  can  make  the  quarry  a  success,"  hopefully.  "I 
mean  that  she  shall  lose  nothing  by  us. " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

JANET  McRAE  stood  by  the  table  in  Doctor  Trewartha's 
"study,"  as  Hannah  called  it;  but  anyplace  that  held  him 
long  at  a  time  was  always  a  "den"  to  him.  This  was  a 
curious  conglomeration.  An  elegant  Persian  carpet,  in  the 
smallest  of  figures  but  most  gorgeous  colors,  so  strewn  with 
debris  of  every  kind,  that  here  and  there  a  patch  of  it  gleamed 
out  like  a  stray  bird  of  brilliant  kind  in  the  wildness  of  some 
rugged  mountain  slope. 

It  was  very  large,  running  on  the  south  side  the  entire 
length  of  the  house.  Quaintly-carved  bookcases  and  mediaeval 
cabinets  curiously  inlaid,  filled  the  niches  made  between  the 
windows.  They  were  packed  with  a  traveller's  relics  from  the 
weird  idols  of  some  long-ago  religion,  coins,  mosaics,  cameii 
ensculptured  with  gold  and  ivory,  antique  bronzes,  cups,  vases, 
and  gems  from  unearthed  cities,  to  the  illuminated  missals  and 
black-letter  poems  of  a  later  date.  Marbles,  bronzes,  and 
great  Indian  vases  filled  with  tropical  plants  and  wide  feathery 
fronds  of  fern  ;  cacti  in  scarlet,  pink,  and  yellow  ;  here  a  great 
circle,  like  the  basin  of  a  fountain,  filled  with  creamy  waxen 
callas  and  a  variety  of  sedge-grass,  growing  amid  cool,  odorous 
darkness.  Pictures  of  every  clime  ;  plumy  tufts  of  palm,  with 
desert  sounds  in  the  distance  ;  groups  of  picturesque  Arabs, 
intent  upon  some  story  of  adventure  :  each  swarthy,  eager  face  a 
study  in  itself;  smiling  lakes  and  twilights;  a  fierce  storm  scene; 
Spanish  vineyards,  with  their  glowing  purple  bloom,  and  dark- 
eyed  women,  the  chill  of  the  snowy  Alps,  and  the  drowse  of 
the  blue  Mediterranean.  For  weeks  you  might  study  them 
and  never  tire. 


234  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Here  the  skin  of  a  royal  tiger  was  thrown  .over  a  chair  to 
cushion  it,  or  a  pile  of  pillows  improvised  into  a  lounge,  glit 
tering  with  the  gold  and  yellow  of  some  slain  leopard. 
Brackets  made  from  deer-antlers,  grotesque  powder-horns, 
inlaid  pistols  and  trophies  of  many  a  wild  ramble  mingled  in 
almost  interminable  confusion  ;  but  Doctor  Trewartha  at  his 
ease  among  them  all. 

"So,  you  intend  to  tempt  him  with  a  woman?"  laughing 
carelessly,  while  a  kind  of  dangerous  light  played  around  the 
eyes. 

"  I  mean  that  he  shall  stay.  Look  you,  Trewartha,  I  begin 
to  feel  what  it  is  to  have  kin  of  one's  own.  I  like  this  young 
fellow  for  something  that  I  do  not  believe  ever  was  in  Anah 
McRae  or  John  Hurst.  But  he  is  out  of  place." 

"And  you  propose  to  right  him  ?"  twirling  a  pungent  cedar- 
wood  paper-knife  between  his  fingers. 

"  His  mother  has  been  weak — weak  ;"  with  sharp  emphasis. 
"If  she  chose  to  give  up  the  refinements  and  ambitions  of  life 
when  John  Hurst  felt  called  to  preach  to  the  outcast  and  poor, 
she  had  no  right  to  make  her  son's  way  so  bald.  I  would 
have  fought  for  him ;"  shutting  her  white  strong  teeth  with  a 
forcible  click.  "  He  has  something  on  his  mind,  some  dream 
or  wish  that  he  hardly  dares  to  confess.  He  shall  stay  here 
and  work  it  out. " 

"In  the  quarry?"  with  a  provoking  laugh,  stroking  his 
moustache. 

"Let  him  begin  there,  since  it  is  his  choice,"  with  a  resolute 
nod  of  the  head. 

3 

"And  you  think — these  two  young  people — '' 

He  paused  abruptly,  glancing  at  a  bright  spot  in  the  carpet. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  them  marry  !"  in  her  clear,  ringing 
tone.  ' '  Ruth  has  been  as  a  daughter  to  me,  though  I  would 
force  no  one's  inclination." 

"Only  bias  it;"  in  a  dry,  humorous  manner  that  went  no 
farther  than  the  surface. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  236 

"I  could  dower  her  without  impoverishing  him.  Why,  the 
mill  down  yonder  and  the  village  would  be  a  fortune  for  any 
girl  to  bring  her  husband,  and  Cragness  would  hardly  miss  it. 
But  I  would  rather  have  them  marry.  I  have  been  studying 
both.  He  has  just  the  force  and  daring  to  stimulate  her  ;  she, 
the  repose,  grace,  and  quiet  that  such  a  man  needs.  What  one 
lacks  the  other  will  supply,  and  make  an  harmonious,  well- 
balanced  couple." 

"And  love—?" 

You  could  hardly  tell  whether  it  were  disbelief  or  a  fine 
irony  in  his  smooth  tone. 

"I  think  'blind  contact' as  much  as  anything.  She  has 
the  kind  of  reserved  strength  very  attractive  to  such  vehement 
natures,  who  blaze  up  and  fancy  themselves  soon  burned  out 
to  ashes.  I  shall  manage  the  matter  judiciously, — give  him 
just  enough  and  not  too  much  of  her.  And  now,  Doctor 
Trewartha,  will  you  help  me  keep  him  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  do  that ;"  with  a  little  mental  reservation  as  to 
the  other  point. 

"You  see  he  did  not  fancy  Sylvia  at  all,  nor  she  him, 
though  I  was  a  trifle  afraid  in  the  beginning.  She  is  such  a 
child." 

"What  is  to  be  done  first  ?"  abruptly. 

"  If  you  would  drive  over  to  Taunton  and  have  an  interview 
with  this  Hensler — taking  Victor  with  you — "  She  hated 
mortally  to  give  it  up  herself,  as  business  was  her  delight. 
"The  quarry  could  be  opened  immediately.  They  saw  the 
stone  last  summer." 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  money  in  it." 

"Too  much  to  put  into  his  hands?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  would  call  just  enough  ;"  rather 
doubtfully. 

"1  want  him  to  feel  quite  independent,  to  be  able  to  pro 
vide  for  his  parents,  and  indulge  in  some  whims  if  he  chooses. 
I  should  like  to  see  the  bent  of  his  mind.  Perhaps — " 


236  With  Fate  against  Him. 

reflectively,  "I  was  over  hasty.  He  may  have  some  fault  or 
vice  that  we  know  nothing  of,  and  if  so,  it  would  come  out 
when  he  found  himself  no  longer  watched." 

"  Suppose  you  let  him  manage  the  quarry  for  half  the  profits  ? 
They  expect  to  be  two  years  building  the  church,  and  school 
or  college.  I  don't  know  just  what  they  do  mean  to  make  of  it 
— a  nunnery,  I  dare  say,"  with  a  laugh. 

"I  should  be  loth  to  have  my  stone  go  into  a  nunnery," 
with  a  gleam  of  latent  Scotch  Presbyterianism  in  her  eye. 

"Pooh  !  and  you  a  progressionist!  Let  our  neighbors  do 
PS  they  like,  so  long  as  they  keep  from  interfering  with  our 
rights  and  privileges." 

"You  think  half  would  be  sufficient?"  going  back  to  the 
business.  "  And  John  Hurst  may  live — " 

"Seven  years  or  seven  months.  At  present  I  incline  to  the 
first. " 

' '  I  shall  be  sure  of  him  long  before  that ;"  nodding  her 
head  decisively. 

"You  will  have  him  married  and  his  children  playing  about 
your  knees,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  was  soft,  yet  exceedingly 
bitter. 

She  did  not  remark  it,  being  preoccupied  with  the  distant 
vision,  and  a  smile  crossed  her  grim  face. 

"Will  you  return  with  me?" 

"No.  Don't  let  us  look  too  much  like  a  conspiracy.  I 
think,  on  the  whole,  we  had  better  drive  to  Taunton  to-morrow 
morning.  Do  you  suppose  the  Hursts  will  go  away?" 

"By  themselves?"  That  startled  her.  "Well,  why  not  if 
they  want  to?  There  is  Denzil's  cottage  standing  empty. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  better,  for  I  do  not  want  him  to  tire  of 
Ruth.  I  shall  not  be  the  first  to  propose  it,  however." 

"I  will  be  over  to-morrow." 

"  Not  this  evening  ?" 

"Well,  yes,  this  evening." 

He  came  before  that  time,  however.    Victor,  restless  and  ill 


With  Fate  against  Him.  237 

at  ease,  took  an  afternoon  tramp  over  to  the  Cedars,  and 
brought  Tre\vartha  back  to  tea.  Mrs.  McRae  was  in  fine 
spirits,  and  her  sweet-humored  mood  reacted  upon  the  house 
hold.  She  and  Doctor  Trewartha  had  a  spicy  argument  or 
two,  over  which  Victor  smiled  oddly.  * 

Trewartha's  wide  eyes,  that  seemed  to  have  the  gift  of  seeing' 
on  all  sides,  wandered  furtively  to  Ruth  Gamier.  A  sound, 
healthy-toned  woman,  with  none  of  the  modern  sickly  nonsense 
about  her,  was  Janet  McRae's  boast.  Pure,  firm  flesh,  sound, 
steady  nerves,  no  sitting  up  at  night  to  study  misty  transcendent 
alism,  no  reading  of  trashy  novels.  Books  there  were  in  plenty  ; 
stories  too,  well  chosen  ;  but  it  must  be  confessed  that  Ruth 
was  no  great  reader.  Sylvia  perched  herself  on  a  window- 
ledge  and  galloped  through  everything,  from  Froissart  down  to 
Idyls  of  the  King,  while  Ruth  was  in  the  kitchen  compound 
ing  a  choice  cake. 

If  to  be  a  thorough  woman  meant  a  purely  domestic  animal, 
Janet  McRae  had  done  her  work  very  well.  A  cook  like  Ruth 
Gamier  it  would  have  been  hard  to  find.  True,  she  did  not 
spend  much  of  her  time  in  the  kitchen  now,  but  on  rare 
occasions  she  made  her  influence  felt  there. 

"Every  woman  should  know  enough  to  order  her  own 
house,"  Mrs.  McRae  used  to  repeat,  as  one  of  the  strongest 
articles  of  her  creed.  "  Can  you  show  a  servant  how  to  broil 
a  steak,  when  you  do  not  know  how  to  do  it  yourself?" 

So  Ruth  had  potatoes  and  plum-pudding,  instead  of  useless 
philosophy.  And  there  was  needle-work,  the  unfailing  panacea 
for  all  feminine  ills  and  discomforts.  She  possessed  a  great 
fancy  for  it.  Embroidery  was  "perhaps  her  strongest  passion, 
the  same  as  painting  to  many  a  girl.  Why,  the  moss-buds  in 
the  work  she  had  finished  a  little  while  back  were  like  a  touch 
of  nature.  You  could  almost  pick  them  out  of  their  green  and 
sienna-tinted  beds. 

There  was  a  good  deal  beside  this.  Long  walks,  that  brought 
the  pink  to  her  creamy  cheeks,  and  brightened  her  eyes  ;  rides 


238  With  Fate  against  Him. 

over  hill  and  dale,  with  the  fresh  wind  in  her  face,  and  pleasant 
drives  rendered  the  more  delightful  by  Sylvia's  society.  Calls, 
visits,  small  parties,  such  as  christenings,  birthdays,  or  wed 
dings  ;  errands  of  mercy  to  the  sick,  and  church-going.  Not 
that  she  mapped  out  her  time  in  regular  order,  but  somehow 
it  seemed  to  run  in  just  such  grooves. 

So  Ruth  Gamier,  the  penniless,  well-nigh  friendless  orphan, 
had  been  as  much  of  a  success  as  the  mill,  the  comfortable 
dwellings,  and  remunerative  work,  the  clean  and  orderly  village. 
No  wonder,  then,  Janet  McRae  was  so  ready  to  undertake  Victor 
Hurst.  She  often  fancied  that  she  managed  Frank  Trewartha. 

He  sat  watching  the  two  now — Victor  studying  a  book  of 
engravings,  and  she  with  that  everlasting  work  in  her  white 
fingers,  which  annoyed  him.  It  was  tatting  now,  with  a  dainty 
pearl  shuttle — he  had  brought  it  to  her  from  Philadelphia,  and 
now  his  own  gift  vexed  him. 

A  handsome  couple  they  would  be,  with  just  about  the  right 
difference  in  age.  So  far  as  physical  attributes  went — well  and 
good.  The  silken,  soft,  bronze  hair,  with  its  hue  of  sun  and 
inward  heats,  contrasted  well  with  those  dark,  heavy  braids.  The 
fine,  subtle  complexion  ;  the  changeful,  large-lidded  eyes,  that 
made  you  think  of  flowers  in  bloom  when  he  raised  them  softly, 
set  against  those  untroubled  wells  of  brown  ;  the  waxen  skin, 
that  had  more  of  the  calla  in  its  composition  than  the  mimosa 
For  she  so  rarely  blushed,  or  betrayed  any  embarrassment. 

Something  vexed  Trewartha  then.  The  argument  which 
had  trilled  smoothly  over  pebbles  came  to  a  snag,  and  his  rich, 
mellow  voice  grew  a  trifle  sharp.  Ruth  glanced  slowly  toward 
the  fire,  as  if  her  eyes  were  groping  their  way  about,  and  en 
countered  him.  ^ 

"  I  wouldn't  give  you  that,"  snapping  his  fingers,  angrily, 
"for  a  nature  that  you  can  measure,  and  weigh,  and  define 
accurately.  There  always  must  be  something  left  for  circum 
stances  to  develop,  unless  one  is — an  idiot." 

' '  And  I  say  that,  with  the  proper  training,  you  can  predict  the 


With  Fate  against  Him.  239 

man  or  the  woman  from  the  child.  Half  of  your  temperament 
theory  is  a  farce.  When  a  man  commits  a  sin,  call  it  a  sin  and 
punish  it,  as  you  would  in  a  child.  It  is  the  maudling  sensibility 
miscalled  tenderness  that  makes  half  the  trouble  in  the  world. 
Some  trick  of  temperament,  some  latent  force  acted  upon  by 
this  peculiar  conjunction  of  circumstances,  made  the  man 
act  as  he  did.  Faugh !  He  was  a  free  agent  to  do  what  he 
liked,  and  he  chose  crime.  It  is  training  that  is  responsible." 

"  And  when  you  have  moulded  your  subjects'  nature  to  that 
state  of  perfection — ?"  with  a  brilliant  satirical,  smile. 

"You  can  count  to  a  certainty  upon  what  they  will  do.  If 
you  sow  tares,  you  would  not  expect  to  reap  wheat,  and  if — " 

"  But  some  tares  generally  find  their  way  among  the  wheat, 
I  have  observed — "  dryly,  pushing  back  his  chair. 

Then  his  eyes  met  Ruth's.  Instead  of  their  usual  placid  ex 
pression,  there  was  a  forlorn,  questioning  terror  in  them. 

' '  Put  up  your  work, "  he  said,  in  his  abrupt  imperious  fashion. 
"Get  the  chess-board,  and  let  us  have  a  game  before  I  go. 
Madame  McRae,  there  is  no  use  in  arguing  with  you.  A 
ring  is  round — that  is  all.  You  will  never  come  to  an  end." 

Ruth  played  badly.  For  the  first  time  he  fancied  the  white 
fingers  trembled.  Wo.uld  that  young  upstart,  deep  in  the  dainty 
line  and  stipple  of  an  engraving,  ever  kiss  any  color  in,  them  ? 

"There,  you  are.  beaten,  Miss  Gamier,  and  it  makes  me 
cross  as  a  bear  to  win  arguments,  games,  and  all.  Adversity  is 
ever  a  sweetener  of  disposition.  Now  for  Black  Dick,  and  a 
gallop  in  this  keen  night  air  to  restore  my  good  temper." 

Mrs.  McRae  was  explaining  Ben  Lomond,  and  nodded  her 
good-night  with  a  threatening  shake  of  her  long  forefinger. 
Ruth  went  ouj:  to  the  hall. 

"  How  odd  the  place  seems  without  Silvia  !  She  was  quite 
home-sick  when  I  bade  her  good-by." 

A  flush  overspread  the  calm  face — so  unusual  a  circumstance 
that  Trewartha  started.  The  thick  lids  drooped,  their  long 
jetty  lashes  making  a  shadow  sweep  over  the  ch^ek. 


240  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"You  will  see  her  to-morrow?"  in  a  strangely  eager 
tone. 

"I  don't  know.     Did  you  wish  to  send  a  message  ?" 

"I—?     No— that  is— " 

He  faced  Ruth  for  a  moment,  took  her  hand,  and  compelled 
her  to  look  up,  by  his  own  strong  personal  magnetism.  The 
fingers  fairly  trembled  in  his  clasp. 

"Good-night." 

She  heard  Black  Dick  utter  his  fiery  snort  as  his  feet  roused 
clattering  echoes  from  the  frozen  ground.  But  there  was  no 
change  in  her  face  as  she  took  up  her  neglected  tatting. 

Only  low  in  her  heart  there  swept  a  sudden  flood-tide  of 
mysterious  life  which  threatened  to  break  down  the  barriers  that 
had  hitherto  confined  her  soul — a  half-spiritual,  half-physical 
power  of  resistance  to  a  vague  something  that  she  could  not 
understand,  and  with  it  all  a  sense  of  powerlessness. 

"She  is  jealous  of  Sylvia,"  mused  Trewartha.  "Sylvia, 
whom  she  loved  like  a  kitten  a  month  ago.  And  why  ?  Sylvia 
and  Hurst  were  rather  briery,  I  thought.  What  a  plan  that 
of  Madame  Janet's  !  Ice  and  snow  !  Yet  if  she  falls  into  it 
readily  !" 

He  began  to  whistle  a  gay  French  chanson  heard  in  a  salon 
years  ago,  where  soft  voices  and  bright  faces  made  a  beguiling 
atmosphere.  He  was  young  in  those  days  and  had  some 
hot  blood  in  his  veins. 

He  lingered  awhile  over  the  lilies  that  night. 

"I  used  to  think  them  like  her.  Well,  they  have  a  rare 
golden  centre,  a  heart, — but  how  about  the  soul  of  both  ?" 

Victor  and  Trewartha  set  out  for  Taunton  the  next  morn 
ing.  Mrs.  McRae,  having  her  in-door  business  arranged  to  her 
satisfaction,  went  down  to  the  mill ;  while  Ruth,  being  lady  of 
the  house,  was  courteous  and  attentive  to  Mrs.  Hurst,  and 
ordered  the  dinner. 

It  was  dusk  of  the  crisp  March  day  when  the  travellers 
returned.  Miss  Gamier  was  not  called  from  her  work  this 


With  Fate  against  Him.  241 

evening.  Instead  of  the  red  and  white  chess-men  there  were 
slips  of  paper  full  of  figures,  estimates,  much  adding  and 
discussion. 

"It  is  a  solid  bed  of  rock  for  miles  and  miles,"  said  Mrs. 
McRae.  "An  excellent  quality  of  stone,  too;  and  the  carting 
a  mere  nothing." 

"Cragness  is  famous  for  luck.  There  was  an  old  copper- 
mine  once  somewhere  about,  and  I  dare  say  we  shall  discover 
gold  at  last." 

"Gold  is  a  poor  thing  for  the  land  in  which  it  is  found  ;" 
with  a  disdainful  jerk  of  her  grand  head.  "  We  have  developed 
industry,  which  is  far  better.  The  absence  of  any  well- 
regulated  system  of  labor  affords  loop-holes  for  every  evil 
under  the  sun  to  creep  in  and  flourish.  An  indolent  com 
munity  will  be  a  miserable  one." 

Victor  smiled  inwardly.  He  was  growing  too  wise  to  rush 
out  to  battle  for  any  small  theory  ;  and  he  felt  that  Mrs. 
McRae  was  admirable  in  many  ways.  A  little  narrow,  he 
sometimes  fancied,  and  often  dogmatic  ;  but  her  labors  had 
certainly  borne  good  fruit. 

"  So,  I  shall  turn  the  quarry  over  into  your  hands,  young 
sir,  making  only  one  stipulation.  There  shall  be  no  drunken 
ness,  that  curse  of  the  cities." 

"  But  Hurst's  workmen  must  of  necessity  be  different  from 
yours,"  explained  Trewartha.  "They  will  be  rough  men 
from  the  town,  with  no  families  and  no  flower-gardens  to 
occupy  their  leisure  moments." 

"There's  not  a  pint  of  liquor  to  be  bought  in  the  village," 
she  returned,  testily.  "  If  they  bring  their  rum  with  them 
and  drink  it  out  of  hours,  I  hardly  know  how  it  can  be 
prevented  ;  but  he  shall  make  this  rule — the  first  man  he 
finds  under  the  influence  of  liquor  shall  be  discharged.  Tell 
them  that  in  the  beginning." 

"I  will,"  he  said,  heartily,  remembering  how  his  father 
had  fought  against  the  demon  of  intemperance. 

ii 


242  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Janet  McRae  looked  up  at  Doctor  Trewartha  in  the  most 
beatific  triumph. 

"You  are  rabid  Father  Matthew  crusaders,"  he  said,  with  a 
short  laugh.  "I  wish  you  would  come  over  to  the  Cedars 
and  take  a  bottle  of  wine  with  me.  I  have  some  choice,  I 
assure  you." 

"I  have  undertaken  no  crusade  against  you  strong-brained 
people,  who  have  plenty  of  money  to  spend,  purchase  the  best 
always,  and  can  afford  to  sleep  all  the  morning  when  you  have 
held  an  orgie  over-night.  It  is  for  the  poor  wretches  who 
starve  their  wives  and  children  that  they  may  buy  vile,  poison 
ous  stuff  that  transforms  them  into  something  worse  than  brute 
beasts.  If  I  cannot  have  the  Cragness  community  sober,  I'll 
close  the  workshops  and  nail  up  the  cottage-doors. " 

It  was  her  hobby  to  map  out  the  duties  and  privileges  of 
those  who  were  in  any  manner  subordinate,  and  Doctor  Tre 
wartha  confessed  inwardly  that  the  plan  had  not  worked  ill. 
There  were  a  great  many  people  in  the  world  incapable  of 
leading  even  themselves. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days  the  matter  was  arranged  satis 
factorily.  Victor  felt  quite  elated. 

" I  am  glad  we  came,"  he  said  to  his  mother.  "There  will 
be  an  opportunity  to  make  something  above  our  bare  living. 
Mrs.  McRae  was  very  generous  ;  for  after  I  had  accepted  it 
for  half  the  profit,  she  was  afraid  that  would  not  be  enough  ; 
but  I  am  not  willing  to  subject  myself  to  any  obligation  that 
may  gall  me  by-and-by.  I  want  to  remain  quite  unfettered." 

"Yes  ;"  with  a  little  sigh.     If  it  had  been  different. 

"We  are  to  take  the  cottage.  I  thought  you  would  like 
better  to  have  a  home  of  your  own  again.  It  is  a  pretty,  quiet 
little  place ;  and  here  there  will  be  guests  coming  and  going 
continually." 

"It  is  much  better." 

She  spoke  the  simple  truth.  Indeed,  there  had  been  times 
when  she  felt  almost  stifled  with  the  luxury  for  which  she 


With  Fate  against  Him.  243 

could  make  no  return  ;  and  the  sense  of  supervision  that  clung 
about  her  like  a  shadow. 

As  for  Victor,  he  threw  himself,  heart  and  soul,  into  the 
new  life.  He  was  not  likely  to  stint  ambition  or  energy  in  an 
interest  which  promised  as  much  as  this. 

He  found  in  Doctor  Trewartha  a  staunch  and  peculiar 
friend.  His  experience  in  this  respect  had  been  rather  limited  ; 
and  the  secret  in  the  depths  of  his  soul  disposed  him  to  the 
cautiousness  one  hardly  expects  of  youth.  But  this  man  was 
wonderfully  fascinating,  with  his  rich,  varying  moods,  his  vigor, 
when  he  chose  to  call  it  to  the  surface,  his  brilliancy;  and  the 
half-cynical,  half-tender  vein  perplexed  and  pleased,  lured 
onward,  and  yet  never  satisfied. 

By  the  middle  of  May  they  were  settled  in  their  new  home. 
Ruth  had  supervised  it  with  her  housewifely  instincts.  Mrs. 
Hurst  had  drawn  quite  near  to  the  girl  during  the  past  month. 
There  was  a  restful  quality  in  her  grave  nature,  very  grateful 
indeed  to  the  woman  who  had  been  so  long  tried  with  sharp, 
irritable  nerves  and  restless  brains,  and  haunted  by  a  tragic 
under-current.  For  Ruth  had  a  broad,  calm  surface,  like  a 
fair  lake,  with  no  hint  of  storms.  It  is  true  that  many  of  these 
women  go  through  life  without  ever  having  been  roused  to  one 
magnificent  emotion. 

She  took  a  warm  interest  in  the  Hursts,  partly,  perhaps, 
because  she  had  been  bidden  so  to  do  ;  but  there  was  some 
thing  in  the  sad  matron's  gentleness,  the  hopeless  invalidism 
of  the  husband,  and  the  energy  of  the  son,  that  attracted  her 
more  strongly  than  anything  hitherto  in  her  uneventful  life  : 
quite  a  new  element  at  Cragness.  Somehow  she  began  to 
feel  the  burden  of  the  swathing-bands  wrapped  around  her  by 
kind  hands  of  friendship,  and  there  were  moments  when  she 
longed  to  tear  them  off — if  she  but  knew  where  to  begin.  A 
new  soul  was  moving  upon  the  face  of  the  waters,  troubling  it. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THEY  were  so  much  engrossed  at  Cragness,  Sylvia  Redmond 
thought,  that  she  was  fast  dropping  out  of  sight  or  mind.  She 
had  too  much  vanity  to  take  neglect  complacently  ;  and  then 
the  days  at  cousin  Braisted's  were  monotonous.  Even  Doctor 
Trewartha  was  busy,  and  Black  Dick  used  to  traverse  the  road 
with  his  long,  sweeping  gallop,  just  giving  his  master  time  to 
touch  his  hat  to  her  as  he  passed. 

And  then  Victor  Hurst  was  winning  golden  opinions,  becom 
ing  quite  a  hero.  Even  Ruth  was  moved  from  her  self-poise, 
and  admired  with  an  interest  quite  new  to  her.  The  quarry 
was  in  successful  operation,  and  a  possible  fortune  hidden  in 
its  gray  depths. 

This  lovely  golden  June  afternoon  Sylvia  had  managed  to 
get  away  by  herself.  She  came  down  stairs  in  her  pretty 
riding  costume  and  her  dainty  chip  hat,  with  its  long  white 
plume,  sent  a  week  before  with  a  box  full  of  elegant  attire, 
part  of  her  mother's  purchases  in  New  York. 

"I  am  going  to  Cragness,"  she  announced  to  invalid  Re 
becca,  who  sat  placidly  knitting. 

Rebecca  had  a  message  for  friend  Janet.  Sylvia  listened, 
flicking  her  pearl-handle  whip.  Somehow  she  was  not  in  her 
usual  delightful  humor. 

Indeed,  she  felt  cross.  Her  mother's  letter  fretted  her. 
She  had  been  sorry  to  come  to  this  dull  little  place  ;  but  it 
was  that  or  school,  which  she  disliked  still  more.  For  the 
frivolous  fashionable  woman,  a  faded  beauty,  yet  a  favorite 
with  society,  had  no  mind  to  be  troubled  with  a  pretty,  wilful 
girl,  until  she  saw  some  advantages  for  her.  She  wanted  hei 
glories  and  her  ease  quite  to  herselC 


With  Fate  against  Him.  246 

But  now,  when  she  was  not  of  the  slightest  account  to  any 
one,  she  told  herself  that  she  did  not  want  to  go.  Every  tree 
suddenly  took  on  a  peculiar  nearness.  Yet  there  was  the  sen 
tence.  In  about  ten  days  Mrs.  Redmond  expected  to  come 
for  her,  and  promised  her  a  gay  summer.  Among  other  gos 
sip,  she  wrote — "Eustace  Gilliat  returned  in  March." 

Six  months  ago  it  would  have  proved  unfeigned  pleasure. 
She  was  no  more  used  to  analyzing  or  reasoning  than  Ruth 
Gamier,  though  her  internal  processes  were  so  much  more 
rapid.  But  of  late  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  not  been  happy, 
and  was  every  day  drifting  farther  and  farther  away. 

Madame  McRae  and  Ruth  were  out.  So  then  Sylvia  felt 
quite  at  liberty  to  ramble  about  at  her  own  sweet  will ;  and  she 
turned  her  pony's  head  villageward.  She  would  doubtless  meet 
them  there. 

She  found  herself,  after  a  brisk  canter,  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
quarry ;  and  though  the  intervening  trees  hid  the  excavation, 
she  heard  the  steady,  monotonous  drilling.  Obeying  the  first 
impulse  that  swayed  her,  she  bent  her  course  toward  the  moun 
tain-side,  and  wandered  slowly  round  the  little  ledge,  until 
startled  by  a  sight  that  brought  the  quick  blood  to  her 
cheeks. 

Just  at  her  feet,  it  seemed,  was  a  curious,  half-hidden  nook, 
embowered  by  a  thicket  of  dwarfed  pines,  and  carpeted  by 
rank  mosses.  A  large  flat  stone  was  spread  out  like  a  desk  or 
table,  and  before  it  sat  Victor  Hurst,  his  hair  thrown  back  from 
his  wide  white  brow,  and  his  eyes  intent  upon  something  before 
him — a  drawing  done  in  crayon,  and  a  block  of  the  gray 
quarry-stone,  at  which  he  was  hammering  with  mallet  and 
chisel. 

Her  quick  brain  took  it  in  at  once,  and  her  heart  gave  an 
exultant  bound.  The  pony's  feet  crackled  the  dry  branches, 
breaking  the  student's  solitude,  and  he  glanced  up.  She  nod 
ded,  with  her  gay  little  laugh,  elfin  and  mischievous. 

He  scrambled  the  few  articles  hurriedly  together,  and  with 


246  With  Fate  against  Him. 

two  or  three  swinging  bounds  reached  the  level  where  she  stood, 
flushed,  and  somewhat  confused,  saying  "Miss  Redmond,"  in 
his  first  breath,  and  then  lapsing  into  an  almost  ungracious 
silence. 

He  had  vexed,  tormented,  and  puzzled  her;  and  with  a  girl's 
coquettish  instincts,  she  determined  to  be  even  with  him. 

"Well,  are  you  not  going  to  invite  me  to  your  studio,  or  can 
no  one  enter  who  does  not  climb  up  and  down  like  a  deer?" 

"My  studio,  Miss  Redmond?" 

'*  I  was  not  aware  that  we  had  an  artist  among  us,"  she  went 
on,  with  her  tormenting  coolness,  when  she  saw  how  it  annoyed 
him. 

He  flushed  and  frowned,  biting  his  firm  lips  to  keep  down 
the  sudden  passion. 

"You  are  mistaken,  I  believe.  A  man  may  indulge  in 
some  whims,  and  yet  never  dream  of — position." 

"You  will  have  that.  You  can  afford  to  indulge  in 
•whims." 

"I  shall  have — the  result  of  my  labor,  whatever  that 
may  be." 

His  steady  manner  of  ignoring  all  advantages  fretted  her. 
Why  should  he  continually  abase  himself? 

"You  will  have  Cragness,"  in  a  clear,  sharp  tone,  glancing 
keenly  at  him. 

He  stood  unmoved,  the  color  in  his  face  not  even  wavering. 

"  You  have  given  your  opinion  prematurely.  I  have — 
other  plans — and  but  small  right.  Miss  Gamier  is  better  en 
titled  to  it." 

"  Mrs.  McRae  carries  her  intentions  plainly,  and  you  are  the 
last  of  the  family." 

"She  knows  my  plans,  however." 

Sylvia  Redmond  paused  in  her  wordy  war.  Why  did  they 
always  happen  to  jar  when  they  met  ?  Then  she  said  in  a  softer 
tone,  ' '  I  am  going  away." 

"Going?" 


With  Fate  against  Him.     .  247 

He  checked  himself  abruptly.  What  was  it  to  him  whether 
she  went  or  stayed  ?  Why  could  not  all  these  people  let  him 
work  in  his  own  fashion,  and  not  burrow  into  the  secret  he  was 
trying  to  keep  out  of  sight. 

As  they  stood  there  facing  one  another,  there  was  a  sharp, 
ringing  report ;  a  sullen  echo  among  the  trees,  and  a  splinter 
of  the  rock  came  crashing  through  the  foliage  at  their  very  feet. 
Miss  Redmond's  pony  gave  an  alarmed  snort,  reared,  and 
in  another  instant  would  have  plunged  over  theledge ;  but  a 
firm  hand  caught  the  bridle. 

' '  Thank  you. "  There  was  a  little  tremble  in  her  voice. 
"I  might  have  gone  down  there  uninvited,  after  all,"  smiling 
faintly.  "  I  suppose  I  was  rude  to  you  ;  but  I  did  not  mean  to 
be.  Don't  remember  all  these  naughty  things  against  me 
when  I  am  gone." 

Her  voice  was  very  sweet.  When  she  was  gone  !  Far  apart 
as  they  had  been  for  three  months,  these  months  when  they  had 
seen  each  other  every  few  days,  still  he  had  fallen  into  the 
habit  of  watching  her  as  one  does  a  rare  beautiful  picture. 
Her  absence  would  make  a  blank.  The  old  unreasoning  heat 
and  anger  vanished. 

"I  shall  not  be  likely  to  remember  what  you  would  wish 
me  to  forget ;"  in  a  grave,  courteous  tone,  thinking  of  the 
past,  as  she  too  thought  of  it  at  that  moment. 

A  sound  of  high  words  caught  his  ear.  "If  you  will 
excuse  me  a  moment,"  he  said,  and  bounding  over  the  gray 
ledges,  he  took  a  short  cut  to  the  quarry.  Fifteen  or  twenty 
men  were  examining  the  fissure  made  in  the  side  of  the  rock. 

"Who  lighted  that?"  he  asked,  as  the  voices  subsided. 

"I  did,"  was  the  dogged  answer  of  a  short,  square-built 
man  nearest  him. 

' '  I  told  you  on  Monday,  Jarvis,  that  I  was  to  be  here  ;"  in 
an  authoritative  tone. 

"But  you  weren't.  I  set  'em  off  last  summer;"  rather 
sullenly. 


248  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"That  was  my  order.  A  shout  or  a  whistle  would  have 
summoned  me.  I  was  waiting  for  you  to  get  ready." 

"Well,  it's  all  done,"  returned  Jarvis,  crossly.  "I  blasted 
rocks  while  you  were  a  youngster.  I  guess  I  know  my  own 
business. " 

"And  I  mine,"  in  a  clear,  ringing  tone. 

The  men  began  to  gather  their  tools  from  safe  distance  and 
survey  the  fragments  strewn  around.  Jarvis  made  no  further 
answer,  but  sitting  down,  carelessly  chipped  at  a  block. 

"Them  chaps  think  they  know  so  much,"  Jarvis  flung  out, 
angrily,  when  the  last  footsteps  had  died  away.  "  Because  he's 
kin  of  that  cranky  old  woman,  he  carries  himself  like  a  lord. 
I'd  like  to  teach  him  a  lesson  or  two." 

Jarvis  had  been  one  of  the  last  summer's  hands,  and  clothed 
with  a  little  authority.  At  that  time  there  had  been  no  regular 
rule,  and  the  roughest  of  the  men  secretly  objected  to  the  new 
order  of  things,  going  so  far  in  one  instance  as  to  threaten 
defection. 

"Very  well,"  Victor  Hurst  had  said.  In  his  heart  he 
hoped  Jarvis  would  keep  his  word.  He  had  learned  consider 
able  about  managing  men,  young  as  he  was.  Unfortunately, 
youth  was  the  crime  in  their  eyes. 

He  strode  back  to  Sylvia,  in  a  less  amiable  mood. 

"They  were  blasting,"  she  said.  "Did  any  accident 
happen." 

"No."  Then,  as  it  was  rather  awkward  standing  there,  he 
asked  if  she  would  like  to  see  what  they  had  done. 

She  turned  her  horse  and  led  him  slowly  down  the  narrow 
path  to  the  road,  where  they  soon  came  to  the  debris.  She 
looked  at  the  rent,  perforated  here  and  there  by  the  slender  holes 
drilled  for  the  fuse,  the  masses  of  rock,  the  great,  cavernous 
entrance.  It  was  like  hewing  away  a  mountain. 

While  the  talk  flowed  on  pleasantly,  he  was  thinking  of  the 
secret  she  held.  A  laughing  word  to  Trewartha,  a  careless 
one  to  Mrs.  McRae,  would  bring  his  hidden  plans  to  light.  If 


With  Fate  against  Him.  249 

he  failed  here  as  he  had  in  the  painting — and  a  flush  of  morti 
fication  overspread  his  brow — better  that  these  friends  should 
know  nothing  of  it.  But  how  to  insure  her  silence? 

They  came  back  presently.  When  she  saw  the  path  he  was 
taking,  she  stopped. 

"You  need  not  go;"  with  a  little  gasp.  "I  am  ashamed 
of  my  impertinence,  and  I  have  no  foolish  curiosity.  Your 
plans  are  your  own,  as  you  have  said.  I  think  you  capable  of 
•working  them  through,  whatever  they  may  be." 

Her  clear,  serious  words  were  so  different  from  Miss  Lown- 
des?  extravagant  praise,  that  it  gave  him  courage. 

Perhaps  she  was  a  little  disappointed  when  he  turned. 
There  really  was  no  use  in  betraying  that  crude  work,  he 
thought.  The  time  to  surprise  her  had  not  come. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  am  obliged  for  your  faith  in  me, 
though  I  may  never  do  anything  to  deserve  it." 

"  I  believe  you  will.  But  why  not — take  the  help  that  is 
proffered  ?" 

"Because  I  had  rather  work  my  way.  Will  you  stop  at 
the  cottage?"  he  asked,  suddenly  changing  his  tone.  "My 
mother  was  wondering  yesterday  why  you  did  not  come.  And 
if  you  are  going  away — I  am  at  liberty  now  to  escort  you  ;" 
smiling. 

The  shimmering  radiance  of  the  late  sun  fluttered  in  great 
hazy  waves  over  the  swaying  meadows  and  fields  of  grain. 
The  still  air  was  fragrant  with  summer  smells — distant  honey 
suckle,  and  wild  grape,  and  the  spice  of  growing  woodlands. 
But  she  was  in  no  mood  to  note  the  beauty  or  mysterious  ten 
derness  of  nature. 

She  was  going  away.  There  would  be  a  fair  field  for  Ruth 
Gamier,  backed  by  these  broad  lands,  and  Mrs.  McRae's  in 
fluence.  Of  course  it  would  be  so.  She  could  see  the  end 
from  the  beginning,  and  they  had  all  made  it  plain  enough. 
To  be  sure,  he  was  proud  ;  but  then — the  current  we  uld  prove 
too  strong,  and  in  the  end  he  would  yield.  She  strangled  a  little 

ii* 


25o  With  Fate  against  Him. 

sigh  in  her  throat  with  a  bitter,  bitter  pang.  For  she  seemed 
to  be  drifting  into  utter  loneliness. 

Ruth  Gamier  sat  on  the  porch  in  her  flowing  white  irobes, 
with  a  deep  red  rose  at  her  throat,  making  the  white  neck 
whiter.  Mr.  Hurst's  chair  had  been  wheeled  out  of  doors, 
and  she  was  beside  it,  talking  in  her  calm,  pleasant  fashion. 
So  they  had  given  her  a  daughter's  place  already. 

Mrs.  Hurst  came  out  to  welcome  Sylvia.  The  lips  she 
kissed  were  cold,  for  all  their  summer  redness.  Ruth  nodded 
cordially,  but  remained  to  finish  her  sentence.  The  girl's 
quick  eyes  took  in  Mr.  Hurst's  fatherly  smile,  and  a  pang  tore 
her  soul. 

"You  are  such  a  rare  visitor,"  Mrs.  Hurst  was  saying. 
"The  night  will  be  fine,  so  you  can  hardly  refuse  to  take  a 
social  cup  of  tea  with  us.  And  Ruth  being  here,  too — " 

With  that  she  glanced  at  Victor. 

"  I  will  see  that  she  reaches  her  cousin's  in  safety,"  he  made 
answer,  bowing. 

No  one  cared  very  much  about  her  staying.  They  were  all 
happy  enough  without  her.  How  miserably  lonely  she  was  in 
this  wide,  dreary  world. 

"  I  am  not  quite  in  visiting  costume,"  with  a  short,  unmusical 
laugh,  that  caused  Victor  to  turn  and  study  her  for  a  moment. 

"Oh,  that  will  make  no  difference.  You  are  always  a  little 
picture  in  anything,"  and  Mrs.  Hurst's  sweet,  cordial  smile 
went  to  her  heart. 

He  went  round  to  the  other  side,  pretending  to  examine  a 
buckle.  "  Are  you  still  offended  with  me  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Miss  Gamier,  come  and  persuade  Sylvia,  "said  Mrs.  Hurst, 
taking  a  step  farther  away,  and  Sylvia  seeing  the  advantage, 
bent  her  head  to  reply. 

"Why  should  I  be  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  If  the  confidence  is  worth  giving,  if  it  was 
anything  beyond  a  crude  idea — and  yet — you  have  my 
secret." 


With  Fate  against  Him.  25 1 

She  did  not  know  how  to  translate  the  hesitation,  the  voice 
that  seemed  to  waver  between  friendliness  and  stem  self-control. 

"Since  I  surprised  it,  Mr.  Hurst,  it  can  hardly  be  called  a 
pleasant  or  honorable  knowledge.  It  will  be  like  the  things 
that  are  not,  to  me." 

After  all,  she  really  did  not  care.  It  was  but  a  girlish  tri 
umph.  And  yet,  studying  the  child's  face,  he  found  a  deeper 
meaning  in  it,  a  strange  sympathetic  soul,  if  one  might  be  sure 
of  the  right  key. 

Ruth  came  and  kissed  her,  and  the  two  voices  were  joined 
in  pleading.  She  was  frightened  at  herself,  when  she  found 
she  was  actually  drifting  into  a  dull  dislike  of  her  friend  whom 
she  had  loved  only  a  brief  while  ago.  And  then  Trewartha's 
strong,  stirring  voice  broke  up  the  reign  of  womanly  softness 

Mrs.  McRae  determined  that  her  stubborn  heir-elect  should 
not  lose  caste  with  high  or  low  if  she  could  prevent  it.  The 
cottage  had  been  furnished  to  her  own  fancy,  and  she  had 
parted  with  one  of  her  best  servants — bribed  her  to  go  indeed. 
But  the  Hursts  lived  in  their  own  quiet  fashion  for  all  that. 

They  made  Sylvia  dismount  and  remain  to  supper.  Trewar- 
tha  having  Black  Dick,  was  Sylvia's  escort  afterward  ;  but  he 
found  the  poor  child  strangely  dull.  He  could  not  rouse  her 
into  sharp,  petulant  answers.  Victor  drove  Ruth  home  in  the 
carriage  which  Mrs.  McRae  had  insisted  should  be  at  Mr. 
Hurst's  disposal  whenever  he  was  able  to  be  taken  out.  She 
smiled  benignantly  at  the  success  of  these  small  schemes  that 
she  fancied  no  one  read. 

The  days  flew  rapidly  to  Sylvia  Redmond.  For  the  follow 
ing  week  she  had  no  opportunity  to  steal  even  one  solitary 
ramble  ;  and  then  her  mother  came  down  in  state,  making 
quite  a  stir  in  the  simple  Quaker  home. 

A  faded  beauty,  as  I  said,  irritable  in  temper,  and  with  the 
nerves  that  are  some  women's  continual  boast.  You  could  always 
tell  her  by  her  fan,  and  handkerchiefs,  and  scent-bottles,  with 
which  she  filled  every  table  or  stand  within  her  reach.  Sylvia 


252  With  Fate  against  Him. 

thought  her  a  good  deal  changed.  There  was  a  restless  light 
in  her  pale  eyes,  a  flutter  of  apprehension  about  her,  as  if  she 
were  on  the  continual  look-out  for  some  impending  danger. 
Or  was  it  because  she  had  become  so  used  to  these  healthy- 
toned  people,  who  were  a  mental  tonic  in  themselves  ? 

"Our  plans  have  been  altered  somewhat,"  she  announced 
to  Sylvia,  depositing  herself  carefully  upon  her  daughter's  bed 
in  lieu  of  a  sofa,  and  fanning  languidly.  "Mrs.  Gilliat  is 
much  worse.  The  Doctor  has  ordered  perfect  quiet  and 
mountain  air.  They  have  come  to  try  St.  Albans." 

"St.  Albans!  Why  it  is  only — "  and  Sylvia's  heart  beat 
guiltily  with  a  thrill  of  pleasure. 

"A  resort  for  invalids.  I  know  that  well  enough  ;"  in  a 
querulous  tone.  "I  need  something  more  exciting,  but  it  was 
my  dear  friend,  and  I  consented.  Eustace  is  with  his 
mother  ;"  eyeing  her  daughter  sharply. 

But  Sylvia  was  thinking  of  the  distance  only,  or  rather  the 
nearness.  Why,  she  could  almost  see  the  little  nest  in  the  range 
of  mountains  yonder.  Years  ago  some  one  had  built  a  great 
roomy  hotel,  thinking  to  make  it  a  famous  resort  for  health- 
seekers;  but  it  had  rather  languished  and  become  a  rendezvous 
for  tourists,  travelling  artists,  and  the  like.  There  was  a  spring 
of  remarkable  mineral  water,  and  the  pure  bracing  air  was 
enough  of  itself  to  restore  the  most  hopeless  invalid.  And 
then  she  would  not  be  altogether  deprived  of  her  old  friends. 
Doctor  Trewartha  and  Ruth  would  surely  come. 

"  I  promised  to  bring  you  back  with  me  this  week.  Get  out 
your  clothes,  Sylvia,  and  see  if  you  have  anything  to  wear.  I 
suppose  there  is  no  one  here  who  could  even  tie  a  sash  fit  to 
be  seen.  We  shall  have  to  depend  upon  Stella." 

Sylvia  obeyed  dutifully.  "I  am  sure  there  is  enough  to  last 
me  seven  years,  mamma,"  she  said. 

"Seven  years!"  pettishly.  "Little  you  know  about  it, 
child."  I  have  some  beautiful  lawns  and  grenadines  yet  uncut, 
but  I  don't  know  what  I'm  to  do  if  Stella  sews  all  the  time 


With  Fate  against  Him.  263 

Those  white  dresses  look  beautifully.  What  a  laundress  cousin 
Rachel  must  have.  And  after  all  I  believe  young  girls  look 
as  well  in  white  as  in  anything  else.  Sylvia,  hand  me  that 
bottle  on  the  dressing-table.  My  poor  head  1  It  aches  fear 
fully." 

Sylvia  poured  a  little  of  the  perfumed  water  on  a  handker 
chief,  and  would  have  bathed  her  mother's  face,  but  that  lady's 
complexion  was  too  sacred  a  thing  to  be  tampered  with. 

"  Don't  be  so  officious,  child  !  I  certainly  do  not  care  to  be 
deluged.  You  have  no  regard  whatever  for  my  nerves.  When 
you  have  gone  through  with  as  much  as  I  have,  you  will  learn 
to  be  more  delicate,  I  hope.  If  I  had  known  when  I  was  at 
your  age  that  a  woman's  whole  life  depends  upon  the  kind  of 
marriage  she  makes — " 

Sylvia  colored  a  trifle  at  the  scrutiny. 

"Yes,  marriage  is  a  matter  of  great  importance.  Eustace 
asked  me  if  I  had  kept  his  little  wife  safe  for  him,  Sylvia." 

"  Mamma,  that  was  nonsense,  childish  nonsense,"  and  a 
scarlet  heat  flushed  the  young  girl's  face. 

"  Nonsense  for  a  man  to  remember  ?  You  are  very  ungrate 
ful,  Sylvia  ;"  and  the  mother  sighed. 

She  made  no  reply.  There  had  been  a  time  when  Eustace 
Gilliat  was  a  sort  of  hero  to  her,  though  it  was  more  the 
family  prestige  and  her  admiration  for  his  father  than  any  real 
fancy  for  the  boy. 

"  Has  there  been  any  society  here  this  winter?"  Mrs.  Red 
mond  asked,  sharply. 

"I  thought  it  quite  dull  at  first ;  then  I  found  Doctor  Tre- 
wartha  entertaining." 

"  He  is  old  enough  to  be  your  father." 

Mrs.  Redmond  silently  studied  her  daughter.  A  fair, 
sweet  girl,  with  beauty  enough  for  almost  any  man's  fancy. 
She  had  resolved  to  have  her  marry  well ;  if  possible,  to  be 
come  Mrs.  Gilliat.  She  had  a  longing  to  queen  it  in  that  old 
house  herself,  in  a  position  different  from  that  of  a  guest.  She 


264  With  Fate  against  Him. 

had  skilfully  fanned  Eustace's  weak  liking  into  quite  a  desire. 
There  were  no  rivals  at  St.  Albans,  and  if  he  would  only  stay. 
But  she  must  lose  no  time  in  presenting  Sylvia,  for  already 
the  child  began  to  have  some  opinions  of  her  own. 

With  the  aid  of  Stella,  her  maid,  Mrs.  Redmond  summoned 
sufficient  energy  to  get  her  daughter  ready  in  the  course  of  the 
next  two  days.  Doctor  Trewartha  made  a  friendly  call,  but 
his  manner  was  most  fatherly  and  unexceptionable.  Mrs. 
McRae  and  Ruth  paid  their  respects  to  Sylvia's  mother,  also. 

"That  terrible  woman  !"  and  Mrs.  Redmond  fanned  as  if 
to  clear  the  air.  "So  loud-voiced  and  man-like,  and  in  such 
absolutely  coarse  health.  A  person  of  her  age,  too  ;  but  it  is 
in  the  blood,  I  suppose,  in  the  blood." 

Sylvia  started.  Somehow  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  current 
of  her  life  and  belief  had  changed.  How  had  she  learned 
to  look  deeper  than  the  surface  ;  to  send  down  quick,  earnest 
glances  that  challenged  the  souls  she  met ;  to  discern  the 
weak,  false,  and  meretricious,  from  the  brave  and  true?  A 
man  or  woman  who  worked  out  life  in  noble  actions,  like 
Mrs.  McRae,  or  any  other  brave,  fearless  soul,  was  nobler, 
after  all,  than  any  puny  being,  backed  by  a  long  line  of  ances 
try.  Had  a  taint  of  radicalism  crept  into  her  brain  ? 

"Poor  child,  poor  Sylvia,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  McRae,  "she 
has  outgrown  her  foolish  mother,  and  that  is  a  hard  thing 
when  one  would  fain  reverence.  I  felt  like  taking  her  in  my 
arms  and  bringing  her  to  Cragness  for  all  time.  But  I  sup 
pose  her  happy  childhood  will  come  to  an  end  shortly.  Thank 
God  that  I  have  no  daughters  to  sacrifice  to  Dagon." 

If  Sylvia  had  indulged  in  a  frantic  hope  of  a  reprieve  at 
ihe  last  moment,  she  was  doomed  to  disappointment.  The 
day  was  cloudless,  the  dresses  in  order,  the  carriage  not  a 
moment  behindhand. 

They  passed  down  the  road  by  the  quarry.  Victor  Hurst 
and  Trewartha  stood  talking,  and  both  bowed. 

"Who  is  that  young  man,  Sylvia?"  her  mother  asked. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  255 

"A  connection  of  Mrs.  McRae's.  He  has  taken  charge  of 
the  quarry,  and — " 

"That  is  enough,"  decisively.  "That  woman's  blood 
would  taint  anything  for  me." 

A  chill  crept  over  Sylvia  as  she  relapsed  into  silence. 

She  had  no  keener  eyes  to-day  for  the  beautiful  road  than 
her  mother.  Winding  around  the  lofty  hills  bathed  in  pur 
ple  splendor,  passing  narrow  defiles  where  the  wind  swept 
through  with  the  sad  undertone  of  the  sea,  masses  of  rock 
tumbled  together  in  great  crags,  veined  with  what  seemed  both 
silver  and  gold,  and  now  and  then  a  glimpse  of  the  river, 
blue  in  its  shaded  depths  as  the  sky  above.  But  she  did  not 
see  these  grand  shifting  pictures  ;  and  all  she  could  think  of 
was  some  poor  wretch  going  to  a  dreaded  fate  :  something 
which  turned  her  cold  and  sick. 

It  was  almost  dusk  when  they  entered  St.  Albans,  a  tiny, 
quaint  old  town,  perched  on  a  level  plateau  between  two 
mountains,  while  a  host  of  smaller  hills  seemed  to  lie  sleeping 
at  its  feet.  For  the  last  hour  Mrs.  Redmond  had  been  exceed 
ingly  irritable  ;  and  Sylvia  was  glad  to  hear  a  pleasant  voice. 

"So  you  have  brought  her  back — our  little  Sylvia;"  and 
she  felt  her  hand  taken  in  a  gracious  clasp. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Gilliat!" 

"  We  are  glad  to  see  you  again,  my  child,  very  glad  ;"  and 
yet  it  appeared  to  Sylvia  there  was  a  touch  of  pain  and  weari 
ness  in  the  tone  that  she  had  never  discerned  there  before. 

For  all  her  complaints  and  fatigue,  Mrs.  Redmond  under 
went  a  somewhat  elaborate  dressing  at  the  hands  of  her  tire 
woman.  Mrs.  Gilliat's  prestige  had  gathered  a  number  of 
notabilities  at  St.  Albans,  and  this  weak,  foolish  creature  wished 
to  shine  among  them — it  would  always  be  the  ambition  of  her 
vapid,  narrow  life.  And  now  was  added  to  it  the  zest  of  marry 
ing  her  daughter. 

Eustace  Gilliat  was  lounging  in  the  spacious  parlor  as  they 
entered.  To  Sylvia  he  looked  weaker  and  more  effeminate 


256  With  Fate  against  Him. 

than  ever  before,  and  something  else  that  she  discerned  but 
could  not  reduce  to  words.  The  faded  eyes  were  vicious,  the 
mouth  cruel  and  sensual,  the  drawling  tone  seemed  to  rasp 
every  nerve.  And  when  she  contrasted  him  with  such  men  as 
Trewartha  and  Victor  Hurst,  a  shiver  of  disgust  ran  over 
her. 

Not  a  son  to  be  proud  of,  was  Eustace  Gilliat.  He  appeared 
to  have  set  at  defiance  all  the  laws  and  salient  peculiarkies  of 
his  long  line  of  ancestry.  The  strength,  manliness,  and  beauty 
which  had  been  a  distinctive  feature  in  them  for  generations, 
failed  to  catch  the  subtile  trick  here.  Perhaps  the  blood  was 
effete,  worn  out,  or  in  some  mysterious  manner  the  father  had 
failed  to  give  the  son  his  own  physical  vitality,  as  well  as  mental 
power.  Or  going  still  farther  back,  there  might  be  some  hid 
den  but  avenging  curse. 

He  had  been  recently  expelled  from  a  German  university  ; 
and  his  father  had  paid  his  gambling  debts,  that  were  a  serious 
matter  even  to  the  Gilliat  income.  It  could  not  be  said  that 
fate  had  exactly  prospered  him.  True,  he  had  held  positions 
of  trust  and  honor,  his  wife  had  won  admiration  abroad  and  at 
home  ;  but  now  she  was  suffering  from  a  hopeless  and  incur 
able  disease,  and  his  son  disappointed  him  at  every  turn.  He 
had  grown  sensitive  to  a  point  of  irritability  ;  and  though  he 
strove  to  be  the  light-hearted,  gracious  gentleman  of  past  days, 
in  his  soul  he  knew  every  step  was  a  wretched  failure. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  IN  one  light  the  case  is  hopeless.  It  is  organic  disease  of 
long  standing.  You  asked  me  for  the  truth,  Mr.  Gilliat,  and 
under  such  circumstances,  I  always  give  a  man  or  a  woman  a 
truthful  answer." 

"But  she  is  so  much  improved.  Your  skill  has  worked 
wonders.  I  wish  we  had  known  you  before,  Doctor  Tre- 
wartha." 

Trewartha  gave  a  short,  rather  incredulous  laugh. 

"If  we  doctors  could  do  everything,  the  laws  that  govern 
the  universe  would  be  set  aside.  And  if  we  could  rule  our 
patients'  habits,  thoughts,  emotions,  and  temper,  we  might  add 
fifty  years  to  their  lives  ;  perhaps  a  hundred,  who  knows?" 
The  genial  ring  Sylvia  loved  so  well  coming  back  to  his  voice. 
"The  air  and  quiet  are  wonderfully  in  Mrs.  Gilliat's  favor.  I 
should  think  she  had  been  deeply  worried  and  perplexed  be 
fore — the  last  attack  ;  and  she  was  just  in  a  situation  to  rally 
when  I  came,  so  I  will  not  take  undue  credit.  She  may  live 
years,  but  she  must  keep  her  mind  tranquil,  use  no  violent 
physical  exertion,  and  above  all  things,  not  to  be  thwarted  or 
opposed.  The  person  who  rouses  her  to  any  strong  excite 
ment  would  be  guilty  of  her  murder." 

Doctor  Trewartha  uttered  the  last  sentence  strongly  and 
clearly. 

"We  shall  all  take  the  best  of  care  of  her,"  in  a  tremulous 
voice. 

"She  needs  that,  and  cheerful  companionship.  Many  peo 
ple  now-a-days  hold  their  lives  in  their  hands;  it  has  become 
something  more  serious  than  a  figure  of  speech.  But  by  ob 
serving  these  rules,  it  is  possible  for  her  to  live  years  longer." 


258  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Sylvia  Redmond* was  pacing  the  long  balcony  outside,  and 
the  sound  came  through  the  open  windows,  though  the  voices 
were  not  raised.  One  sentence  rang  in  her  ears  like  the  sound 
of  a  booming  gun  at  sea  when  a  ship  is  in  danger.  So  she 
waited  for  the  agile  step,  and  strong,  heartsome  figure,  whose 
very  words  were  fraught  with  life  and  death,  and  filled  her  with 
a  strange  awe. 

"Ha,  Midge!"  and  he  put  out  his  hand;  surveying  her 
with  critical  eyes. 

' '  Is  it  true  what  you  said — about  Mrs.  Gilliat — that  a  person 
who  roused  her  would  be  guilty  of  her  murder?" 

Her  lips  were  white  and  tremulous. 

"  True  as — death  itself,  which  never  fails  us,  but  is  sure  to 
come  sooner  or  later.  But  there  is  nothing  in  it  that  need 
concern  you,  child.  I  gave  the  advice  for  others.  She  has 
been  a  magnificent  woman,  and  her  day  has  hardly  declined. 
It  vexes  me  to  see  men  and  women  living  out  only  half  of 
their  appointed  time." 

Sylvia  was  silent.  If  she  dared  to  tell  him  how  this  con 
cerned  her.  to  ask  him  what  she  must  do  with  all  this  weight 
of  misery  crushing  her  to  the  earth. 

"  How  you  have  changed,  Midge.  I  can  hardly  realize  that 
this  is  the  wild,  petulant  little  girl  of  three  months  ago.  Why, 
you  are  a  stylish,  fashionable  woman." 

He  guessed  it  from  the  hard  lines  he  mis-read  in  her  face, 
from  the  almost  haughty  carriage  of  the  head  and  the  certain 
aplomb  society  gives  to  those  who  are  easily  trained.  Her 
tight-fitting  mauve  silk  made  her  look  older,  and  the  set,  firm 
expression  heightened  the  peculiar  grace  surrounding  her. 

"Yes,  I  am  a  fashionable  woman.  I  seem  to  have  left 
girlhood  a  long  way  behind." 

"  More's  the  pity,  Midge;  but  young  things  like  you  never 
know  how  sacred  it  is." 

He  was  watching  her  with  a  half  pity,  very  hard  to  take 
from  him. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  269 

"  We  come  to  other  knowledge  so  soon.  They  are  all  well 
at  Cragness?" 

" Miserably  healthy,"  with  a  laugh.  "It  is  worth  nearing 
seventy  to  be  such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  McRae." 

"  A  pattern  to  which  I  cannot  hope  to  attain,"  sharply. 
"  There  is  none  of  it  in  our  blood,  I  think." 

He  saw  the  vision  of  her  fretful,  faded  mother — the  rich 
blood  converted  into  prickly,  restless  nerves ;  yet,  when  she  was 
young  she  might  have  been  another  blooming  Sylvia. 

"I  wish  I  could  take  you  over  to  Cragness,"  he  said,  dis 
satisfied  with  the  haunting  look  in  her  eyes. 

"But  you  cannot.  I  have  new  duties.  All  my  life  has 
changed,  I  think." 

Mrs.  Redmond  came  down  the  balcony  with  her  languishing 
air,  fan  and  scent-bottle  in  hand. 

"My  darling  Sylvia,  Mrs.  Gilliat  has  been  asking  for  you. 
If  Doctor  Trewartha  will  excuse  you.  How  wonderfully  our 
dear  invalid  has  improved,  Doctor." 

Sylvia  Redmond  turned  without  glancing  up.  He  fancied 
he  knew  women  so  well  that  he  hardly  thought  this  one  was 
going  to  any  doom,  while  in  her  soul  she  heard  the  crunch  of 
the  keel  on  the  ragged  black  rocks,  but  uttered  no  cry.  Was 
it  worth  while  to  struggle  ?  Was  not  life  itself  a  mocking, 
blind  mischance — a  sea  on  which  the  poor  puppets  were 
hurried  hither  and  thither? 

Mrs.  Gilliat,  in  an  elegant  morning  robe,  sat  on  the  sofa,  a 
few  books,  papers,  and  a  handful  of  flowers  scattered  on  the 
one  side,  while  at  the  other  a  vacant  space,  to  which  she 
motioned  Sylvia,  studying  her  intently.  The  child  certainly 
had  grace  and  beauty,  and  a  bright,  cheerful  disposition,  unlike 
her  mother's,  yet  not  strong.  A  tender,  sweet,  pliable  nature. 
She  had  always  liked  her,  though  in  the  old  days  Eustace's 
term  of  "little  wife"  had  not  been  altogether  sweet  to  her 
ears.  But  whatever  ambitious  dreams  she  might  have  had  for 
her  son  were  at  an  end  now. 


260  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"Sit  down,  my  dear;"  in  the  caressing  tone  rarely  used  by 
her,  but  which  was  full  of  subtile  fascination.  "  I  am  so  much 
better  this  morning  that  I  thought  I  might  indulge  in  a  long 
talk  with  you.  Let  me  pin  this  cluster  of  heliotrope  on  your 
bosom.  There,  I  like  its  pungent  odor  so  much,  and  its 
dark  beauty.  You  are  a  little  too  pale,  Sylvia." 

"I  went  to  walk — "  flushing  a  trifle. 

"That  is  better.  Sylvia,  during  the  past  fortnight  I  have 
envied  your  mother.  I  wish  I  had  a  daughter." 

Her  arm  stole  softly  around  Sylvia's  waist,  while  the  young 
girl  tried  hard  to  steady  every  shrinking  nerve. 

"And  I  think  I  might  have.  Sylvia,  your  mother  can  spare 
you  better  than  I.  Eustace  has  confessed  to  me  his  wishes — " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Gilliat !"  with  a  little  cry,  burying  her  face  on 
the  other's  bosom. 

"  My  darling,  I  am  so  glad.  I  told  Eustace  it  was  only  a 
girl's  natural  shyness.  Sylvia,  you  have  his  whole  life  in  your 
hands.  He  has  been  a  little  wild  and  extravagant,  but  it  is 
like  young  men.  You  can  charm  him  with  your  winsome 
graces,  and  wean  him  from  careless  habits.  To  me  you  will 
be  very  dear. " 

Sylvia  Redmond  gave  a  great  gasp. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Gilliat,  hear  me  !  I  do  not  love  Eustace  as  a 
wife  should.  I  am  afraid — " 

"That  is  quite  natural,  child.  The  old  playful  friendship 
has  been  outgrown,  and  this  new  regard  taking  its  place  is  a 
little  strange.  But  Eustace  is  very  much  in  earnest.  I  tremble 
to  have  him  disappointed.  Think,  Sylvia,  a  word  might  send 
him  back  into  the  old  reckless  courses.  He  is  so  much  to 
me,  so  much.  I  would  do  anything  to  save  him.  It  seems 
now  as  if  it  was  all  in  your  hands." 

She  began  to  tremble  violently.  She  ha.l  but  spoken  the 
truth  when  she  said  her  son  was  dear  to  h^r.  With  all  his 
faults  and  vices,  and  the  fatal  deficiencies  in  his  nature,  he  was 
the  one  thing  she  had  bequeathed  to  Rothermel,  all  that  would 


With  Fate  against  Him.  261 

be  left  of  her  when  she  lay  in  the  grave.     If  he  and  his  chil 
dren  could  reign  there  when  Kirke  Gilliat  had  forgotten  her  ! 

The  words  rang  in  Sylvia's  ears  like  the  stern  sentence  of  a 
judge — "guilty  of  murder  !"  Her  tortured  self-consciousness 
exaggerated  the  power  she  might  exert,  and  like  some  poor 
goaded  animal  she  turned  hither  and  thither  for  an  avenue  of' 
escape,  finding  them  all  closed. 

"  Only  give  me  time,"  she  cried. 

"Yes,  dear,"  in  a  voice  so  gentle  that  Beatrice  Gilliat  hardly 
recognized  herself.  "Only,  Sylvia,  it  was  not  because — but 
you  dont  love  Doctor  Trewartha,  child  ?"  hysterically. 

"No,  no;"  beginning  to  chafe  the  cold  hands,  through 
which,  now  and  then,  ran  a  shiver  of  flame,  and  watching  the 
blue  lines  that  crept  slowly  about  the  tremulous  mouth. 

"There  has  been  no  one  else — "  her  eyes  distending  with 
nervous  excitement. 

"  I  do  not  love  any  one  in  that  way,  I  think,"  with  slow,  pain 
ful  reflection,  meaning  to  tell  the  exact  truth  and  believing  that 
she  had.  For  Victor  Hurst  had  never  smiled  into  her  eyes 
with  any  longing,  or  held  her  hand  with  soft,  fond  clasp.  No, 
they  were  nothing  to  each  other. 

"I  don't  see  any  difficulty,  then,  child  ;"  with  a  weak,  hollow 
laugh.  "You  only  want  time  to  become  accustomed  to  the 
new  idea.  It  is  a  curse  for  a  woman  to  love  first — that  is  a 
man's  place  ;  and  when  she  usurps  or  falls  into  it  unwarily, 
she  pays  the  price  in  bitterness  of  soul.  I  tell  you  this  ;"  her 
voice  growing  thin  and  shrill  with  some  old  remembrance. 
"You  are  both  young  and  have  a  pleasant  life  before  you. 
Sylvia,  wher  I  am  gone  you  will  be  mistress  of  Rothermel.  It 
is  a  grand  old  place." 

But  Sylvia  shuddered.  "Do  not  talk  of  that,"  she  said, 
hoarsely. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  it  through  the  night — I  sleep  so  little 
now.  How  you  and  Eustace  would  be  there,  and  your  chil 
dren.  I  wish  there  had  been  others  besides  him.  One  is  the 


262  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Gilliat  heritage  or  curse.  I  fancy  the  years  will  improve  him 
— it  generally  does  men,  my  dear,  who  find  a  good,  sweet, 
patient  wife.  You  will  be  that,  I  know." 

"Be  tranquil,  dear  Mrs.  Gilliat,"  entreated  Sylvia,  for  now 
the  pulses  were  bounding  like  fiery  steeds. 

"Oh,  my  heart!"  She  threw  her  head  back  with  a  gasp, 
and  her  face  wore  the  waxen  whiteness  of  death. 

Sylvia's  first  impulse  was  to  scream  for  help,  but  she  stifled 
the  cry  that  rose  to  her  lips. 

"What  can  I  do?"  chafing  the  cold  face  with  her  soft 
hands. 

"That  little  vial — five  drops — a  wine-glass  of  water." 

Sylvia  was  but  an  instant  in  preparing  it,  and  held  it  to  the 
chattering  lips. 

"  How  quick  and  quiet  you  are,  little  nurse,"  with  a  faint, 
returning  smile.  "Promise  me,  child;  it  may  not  be  for 
long." 

' '  Yes, "  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  as  if  it  were  better  to  murder 
her  own  soul  than  this  woman's  body. 

' '  Bring  me  that  pillow,  please.  I  was  foolish  to  be  so  weak 
when  the  Doctor  warned  me.  'No  excitement/  he  said.  But 
it  was  so  much  to  me." 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  call  the  nurse,"  Sylvia  exclaimed, 
trembling  in  every  limb. 

"No,  let  us  keep  our  little  secret;"  with  a  wan  smile. 
"Your  Doctor  Trewartha  would  scold  me  soundly  if  he 
knew  it.  What  a  bear  he  is  at  times  !  Here,  hold  my  hand. 
I  like  to  have  you  near  me." 

She  seemed  to  drowse  after  that.  Madelon  coming  in, 
smiled  and  nodded  her  head  over  her  mistress's  tranquillity. 
Sylvia  sat  like  a  stone.  Fate  had  girt  her  in  on  every  side. 

But  when  they  would  have  congratulated  her,  she  said — 
"Give  me  a  month  of  freedom  that  I  may  the  better  know  my 
own  mind." 

"Sylvia,  you  are  a  weak  fool !"  her  mother  replied,  angrily. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  263 

"Any  other  girl  would  jump  at  the  chance  of  being  mistress 
at  Rothermel.     And  Mrs.  Gilliat  is  so  fond  of  you." 

But  Mr.  Gilliat  only  folded  his  hands  over  her  fair  head,  and 
murmured,  "My  little  girl:  my  little  girl :  God  bless  you  !" 

When  Eustace  Gilliat's  debts  had  been  paid,  and  himself 
forgiven  through  his  mother's  intervention,  who  resolutely 
believed  him  no  worse  than  other  young  men,  he  had  come 
to  St.  Albans  because  he  could  not  see  his  way  clear  to  go 
anywhere  else.  He  brought  his  beautiful  trotters  and  his 
choice  wines,  that  had  cost  him  a  small  fortune  abroad;  installed 
himself  in  two  rooms  on  the  farther  side  of  the  spacious 
hotel,  and  grumbled  to  his  man,  a  keen,  profligate  French 
valet.  Miss  Redmond  he  voted  a  bore. 

"A  silly  little  fool!"  he  said.  "But  since  there's  such  a 
scarcity  of  women  here,  she  will  be  better  than  none." 

For  he  considered  himself  an  excellent  judge  of  horses, 
wines,  and  women,  young  as  he  was  ;  and,  to  do  him  justice, 
he  had  had  considerable  experience  with  all  three.  The  fine 
wrinkles  in  his  colorless  face,  and  the  blase  look  in  his  eyes, 
told  their  own  story  of  dissipation. 

So  he  prepared  himself  for  a  desperate  flirtation  with  "little 
Sylvia."  Nearly  two  years  had  elapsed  since  their  last  meet 
ing.  But  he  found  her  so  different  from  the  child  of  his  chance 
dreams,  the  Sylvia  who  had  run  wild  about  Rothermel,  admir 
ing  everything  and  everybody,  and  listening  with  interest  to 
his  wonderful  exploits. 

He  was  no  hero  in  her  eyes  now ;  she  had  seen  manlier 
men.  And  this  little  exquisite,  with  pale,  perfumed  locks, 
faded  face,  drawling  voice,  and  expensive  diamonds,  did  not 
in  the  least  captivate  her  fancy.  From  the  very  first  she 
shrank  from  him  in  disgust,  as  if  he  carried  some  vile  taint 
about  with  him.  Yet  older  ladies  admired  and  petted,  ap 
plauded  his  feeble  witticisms,  rode  behind  his  elegant  grays  ; 
and  young  men  pronounced  him  a  "good  fellow,"  since  he 
was  lavish  with  his  wines  and  cigars. 


264  With  Fate  against  Him. 

In  Kirke  Gilliat's  heart  of  hearts  there  was  loathing  and 
contempt  for  this  weak,  foolish,  dissolute  son  of  his.  He  had 
an  utter  abhorrence  of  those  vices,  and  almost  a  hatred  for  the 
shallow,  vapid  nature.  The  boy  had  never  been  strong,  and 
childish  indulgence  had  laid  the  foundation  of  some  of  the 
evils,  while  others  must  have  rooted  themselves  in  radical  in 
herent  wickedness.  He  had  never  been  able  to  stimulate  him 
to  the  least  ambitious  effort.  His  sensuous  nature  grasped  at 
every  pleasure,  no  matter  how  widely  he  might  scatter  throes 
of  pain.  His  virtues  were  puny  and  feeble,  his  vices  very 
giants  ;  indolence  and  selfishness  were  his  ruling  passions. 
That  he  was  lavish,  was  due  to  no  generous  emotion  ;  he  pos 
sessed  a  weak  pride  which  was  gratified  in  spending  money  like 
a  prince. 

Had  God  cursed  him  in  this  son  ?   Sometimes  he  thought  so. 

His  mother  clung  to  him  as  a  certain  kind  of  women  only 
can.  She  had  a  vein  of  slow,  devouring  jealousy  in  her  tem 
perament.  If  Eustace  had  grown  into  a  fine,  manly  fellow, 
in  whom  his  father's  love  and  pride  could  have  centred,  she 
would  have  experienced  a  dull,  grudging  hatred.  She  must 
always  stand  first.  Perhaps  it  was  because  she  did  not  feel 
so  very  secure  of  her  empire,  though  from  the  day  on  which 
Kirke  Gilliat  had  married  her,  up  to  the  present,  she  had  no 
cause  for  complaint. 

But  now,  in  her  failing  health,  her  son's  destiny  appalled 
her  a  little.  It  was  possible,  in  the  event  of  her  death,  for  her 
husband  to  marry  again,  and  in  the  happiness  of  a  new  love, 
make  his  eldest-born  an  outcast.  Rothermel  would  forget 
them  both,  as  if  they  had  never  existed. 

This  is  why  she  had  so  favored  Sylvia  Redmond.  It  was 
best  that  Eustace  should  marry  speedily,  before  some  new  ex 
travagance  angered  his  father  beyond  forgiveness. 

Eustace  Gilliat  missed  of  his  "steep  flirtation."  Sylvia's 
womanliness  was  founded  on  a  rock  where  he  was  concerned. 
The  old  half-sisterly  acquaintance  could  not  be  refused ;  but 


With  Fate  against  Him.  265 

there  Eustace  Gilliat  found  an  impassible  barrier.     At  first  his 
vanity  was  sorely  wounded. 

"I'd  like  to  have  the  breaking-in  of  my  pretty  lady,"  he 
said,  with  a  coarse  oath,  to  Jules,  his  man.  "If  she  were  a 
princess  she  could  hardly  carry  her  head  more  loftily.  Sup 
pose  I  marry  her  ?  It  would  be  a*n  awful  bore  ;  but  I  should 
have  some  rights  she  would  be  bound  to  respect." 

Jules  grinned,  showing  his  white,  even  teeth,  and  shrugged 
his  small  shoulders. 

"Monsieur  is  right,  marriage  is  a  bore.  He  would  find  it 
intolerable." 

Yet  the  idea  rather  pleased  the  weak  brain  of  Eustace  Gilliat 
After  all,  it  might  not  be  so  bad.  It  would  serve  to  restore  him 
to  favor  with  his  father,  give  him  a  position  of  more  respect 
ability  and  power  ;  and  if  he  found  the  chain  galling,  he  could 
easily  slip  it  off  for  a  few  weeks.  There  would  be  no  opposition 
from  Mrs.  Redmond — but  then,  what  woman  would  have  the 
courage  to  refuse  her  daughter's  hand  to  the  heir  of  Rothermel  ? 

Then  he  sounded  his  mother.  It  was  well  to  have  her  on  his 
side. 

For  a  moment,  she  hesitated.  Eustace's  wife,  of  all  women, 
should  have  a  fortune  in  her  own  right,  and  Sylvia's  would  not 
be  very  extensive.  But  she  had  birth,  beauty,  and  some  ac 
complishments  ;  and  if  Eustace  were  married,  it  might  be  an 
excellent  thing  for  them  all,  a  cutting  of  the  gordian  knot  of 
anxiety. 

A  desultory  courtship  had  come  of  this  resolve,  growing 
warmer  when  he  found  himself  held  at  a  distance,  until  it  had 
culminated  in  a  proposal,  which  had  been  rejected,  through 
some  girlish  whim,  Eustace  fully  believed. 

And  this  was  why  Mrs.  Gilliat  had  taken  the  matter  in  hand. 
For  the  past  month  she  had  seen  much  of  Sylvia,  and  had 
come  to  admire  her  courage,  truth,  and  bright  winsome  ways. 
This  morning  the  child  had  appeared  an  absolute  necessity  to 

her,  and  pleading  proved  the  more  easy  matter. 

12 


266  With  Fate  against  Him. 

So  Sylvia  Redmond  found  herself  engaged,  with  no  tender 
gladness  or  strong  yearning  on  her  part.  Fate  had  thrust  her 
into  it,  and  held  her  there  with  a  giant's  clasp.  How  could 
she  disappoint  Mr.  Gilliat,  whom  she  really  loved,  and  who 
caught  at  the  marriage  as  eagerly  as  the  rest  ?  for,  after  all,  the 
salvation  of  one's  children  is  nearest.  Howcould"she  thwart 
the  invalid  whose  very  life,  as  it  were,  lay  in  her  hands,  the 
friend  who  had  showered  upon  her  so  many  tokens  of  affection  ? 
And  had  she  the  courage  to  oppose  her  mother's  will,  which 
could  be  so  strong  and  unreasonable  ? 

Every  womanly  fibre  of  her  soul  rose  up  in  protest.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  when  she  came  to  the  marriage,  her  unutter 
able  loathing  would  make  itself  known  to  those  about  her,  and 
some  brave  hand  would  be  stretched  forth  to  rescue  her.  She 
could  not  believe  God  would  allow  such  an  iniquity  to  be  con 
summated. 

Perhaps,  too,  she  had  a  weak  hope  that  the  engagement 
would  prove  irksome  to  Eustace.  And  then  she  was  s6  en 
grossed  with  Mrs.  Gilliat,  that  she  strove  to  put  by  her  own 
misery.  If  she  dared  take  any  friend  in  council,  Ruth,  Doc 
tor  Trewartha,  or  clear-eyed  Mrs.  McRae.  Ah,  if  she  .might 
only  go  back  to  Cragness  !  Even  the  quiet  home  of  the 
Braisteds  was  tempting. 

They  were  riding  behind  the  beautiful  grays  one  afternoon, 
when  they  strayed  into  a  well-known  road.  Sylvia's  heart  beat 
with  a  strange  nervous  apprehension.  They  passed  a  few 
groups  of  children  playing  in  shady  nooks,  or  wading  with 
Iktle  bare  feet  in  the  wayside  streams.  There  was  the  wide, 
cheerful  Cragness  village,  looking  less  compact  for  the  large 
gardens  and  orchards  smiling  between.  Janet  McRae  would 
have  no  crowding. 

Presently  they  passed  two  men  in  earnest  conversation.  Syl 
via  would  have  turned,  but  it  was  too  late.  The  younger  one 
glanced  up,  flushed,  and  bowed  in  a  stately  fashion,  which  she 
returned  with  scarlet  cheeks. 


With  Fate  against  Him..  267 

"It's  a  familiar  face,"  began  Eustace,  with  his  slow  drawl. 
"I  can't  remember  though,  and  I'm  good  at  faces  too.  Del- 
croix  used  to  say  in  Paris  that  there  wasn't  my  match  for 
remembering  a  face ;  but  they  were  generally  women's,  and 
pretty. " 

Sylvia  uttered  no  response.  In  the  fortnight  since  she  had 
seen  Victor  Hurst,  her  whole  destiny  had  changed.  Had  he 
heard  ?  Would  he  care  ? 

"  Who  was  it,  Sylvia?" 

"A  connection  of  Mrs.  McRae's,"  evasively.  "You  have 
heard  me  speak  of  her." 

"That  burly  old  giantess,  who  so  terrifies  your  mother  ?" 

"Yes,"  indifferently. 

"  But  I've  seen  the  face,  Sylvia,"  in  a  tone  of  weak  pettish- 
ness. 

"  Probably.  He  has  charge  of  the  quarry  up  yonder,  though 
I  think — ,"  slowly,  as  if  she  might  be  betraying  a  confidence, 
"that  she  means  to  make  him  her  heir." 

"  Does  he  live  with  her  ?" 

"Not  now.  He  was  there  awhile  last  spring.  Look  at 
those  beautiful  ferns," — with  a  strangling  in  her  throat,  as  if 
she  could  not  pursue  the  subject  farther. 

Eustace  Gilliat  was  jealous  of  anything  she  had  ever  known, 
with  the  vague  consciousness  that  she  held  a  life  apart  from 
his.  Men  of  this  narrow  mental  calibre  are  invariably  sus 
picious  and  cruel. 

He  would  not  leave  the  subject.  "  You  saw  a  good  deal 
of  him,  then?" 

"  Yes  ;"  leaning  back  amid  the  cushions,  wearily. 

A  handsome  man,  with  all  this  wealth  at  his  command,  was 
no  mean  rival.  Perhaps  she  had  cared  for  him. 

His  face  gloomed  over  with  a  sullen  silence.  And  then 
Sylvia,  in  her  misery,  asked  herself  why  she  had  allowed  this 
man  the  right  to  control  or  question. 

He  was  moody  all  the  homeward  way,  nursing  a  sense  of 


268  With  Fate  against  Him. 

injury.  And  she  was  glad  to  be  handed  out  at  last — glad  to 
throw  herself  on  the  bed  in  her  own  room,  with  a  torturing 
headache,  and  come  down  no  more  that  evening. 

Yet,  a  nature  like  Sylvia's  has  many  alternations.  When 
she  rose  the  next  morning,  bright  and  well,  she  could  hardly 
resist  being  happy.  And  as  Eustace  was  absent  nearly  all  day, 
her  spirits  rose.  Mrs.  Gilliat  was  better,  and  Doctor  Tre- 
wartha  had  chatted  a  long  while  in  the  pleasant  parlor.  He 
could  render  himself  exceedingly  fascinating  and  entertaining; 
and  now  he  brought  out  the  riches  of  his  mind  for  his  patient, 
who,  most  of  all,  needed  to  have  her  thoughts  directed  from 
herself.  Mr.  Gilliat  followed  him  out  on  the  porch  and  down 
the  broad  steps.  There  had  been  no  opportunity  to  exchange 
a  word,  and  she,  poor  child,  what  had  she  to  say  ? 

Eustace  drew  her  out  to  the  walk  that  evening,  shaded  on 
one  side  by  the  grove  of  great  oaks,  and  lighted  from  the  open 
windows  of  the  house. 

"Sylvia, "he  began,  "I  made  a  discovery  to-day.  Your 
friend's  name  is  Hurst,  it  seems." 

"  My  friend  ?"  with  a  kind  of  repellant  dignity. 

"Yes."  The  tone  he  meant  for  scorn  fell  far  short  of  the 
mark.  "  And  we  met  him  that  night  at  Bohmerwald." 

He  looked  eagerly  into  her  face  as  he  uttered  this.  He  had 
so  much  of  the  brute  instinct  in  him,  that  he  would  have 
liked  to  catch  her  arm  and  shake  her  until  she  confessed  all 
she  knew. 

"I  remember,"  poising  her  head  with  the  tou«h  of  superi 
ority  and  reticence  that  was  maddening. 

"And  he  remembered,  doubtless,"  with  a  sneer. 

"I  think  not  We  never  spoke  of  it.  Of  course  I  knew 
the  name,  and,  I  believe,  I  should  have  recognized  the  face 
anywhere." 

"A  low,  vulgar  upstart!  Hewing  stone  is  a  congenial 
occupation  for  him,"  he  flung  out  angrily. 

lie  turned  and  faced  him,  a  bright  scarlet  spot  on  each  cheek. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  269 

"He  is  neither  low  nor  vulgar,"  she  said.  "The  atmos 
phere  at  Mrs.  McRae's  is  as  pure  and  sweet  as  the  finest'in  the 
land.  If  there  had  been  anything  in  his  past  life  which 
would  not  have  borne  scrutiny,  he  would  never  have  been 
asked  there.  It  is  a  palace  where  only  worth  gains  entrance." 

He  was  awed  by  her  brave,  unembarrassed  manner.  After 
a  long  while  he  said,  rather  more  softly — 

"It  is  strange  you  did  not  talk  that  night  over.  It  had  its 
picturesque  element,  with  that  fantastic  musician.  I  have  seen 
his  counterpart  abroad  many  a  time." 

"I  dare  say  Mr.  Hurst  had  forgotten.  The  more  stirring 
events  in  men's  lives  crowd  out  such  unimportant  episodes." 

"But  I  remember  that  your  governess  thought  him  hand 
some  ;"  rather  bitterly. 

"I  think  she  was  right,"  in  a  dry,  hard  tone.  "There  is 
mamma  looking  for  me." 

She  had  not  heard  the  other  story,  then  ?  He  had  sworn  that 
he  would  never  forgive  the  blow.  An  under-current  of  jealousy 
and  hate  prompted  him  to  revenge  it. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

SYLVIA  REDMOND  understood  the  grudging  jealousy ;  she  had 
seen  it  in  childhood,  and  never  knew  how  her  sweet-humored 
and  generous  admiration  had  shamed  it.  But  this  passion  held 
a  man's  vindictiveness  as  well.  And  the  deeper  hate  she  knew 
nothing  of,  since  Eustace  had  wisely  kept  that  discreditable 
incident  to  himself. 

He  had  learned  a  good  deal  that  day.  Sylvia  and  Hurst  had 
been  in  the  same  house  for  weeks,  in  the  neighborhood  for 
months.  He  had  seen  Hurst  at  the  quarry — a  great,  handsome, 
agile  fellow,  with  a  kingly  presence,  as  if  born  to  rule.  His 
very  existence  was  hateful.  Some  subtle  instinct  told  him  that 
Victor  stood  between  him  and  Sylvia.  And  though  Cragness 
was  a  wild  compared  to  stately  Rothermel,  with  its  luxuriance 
and  beauty,  it  would  be  no  mean  heritage. 

But  it  appeared  altogether  improbable  to  him  that  a  man, 
with  such  prospects  in  the  distance,  would  be  toiling  in  a 
quarry,  or  even  overlooking  a  gang  of  rude  workmen.  It 
showed  his  coarse,  grovelling  nature  ;  and  Eustace  Gilliat's  lips 
curled  superciliously  at  the  thought. 

He  also  discovered,  through  Jules,  that  Victor  Hurst's  path 
way  was  not  quite  exempt  from  thorns.  There  was  a  kind  of 
covert  rebellion  in  the  quarry.  Acting  on  Mrs.  McRae's  orders, 
liquor  had  been  forbidden. 

Victor  had  seen  enough  of  its  evils  at  Weareham,  besides  his 
own  invincible  dislike  of  the  practice.  So  when  Jarvis  con 
tinued  his  indulgence  in  spite  of  remonstrance,  there  remained 
but  one  step — to  discharge  him.  This  was  accordingly  done. 
Jarvis  lounged  around  a  few  days  in  the  vicinity,  and  then 


With  Fate  against  Him.  271 

rather  sullenly  begged  to  be  taken  back.  It  was  really  wiser, 
Victor  thought,  than  to  have  him  idling  about  and  interfering 
with  the  others. 

"You  have  made  a  mistake,  young  sir,"  exclaimed  Janet 
McRae  in  her  brisk  tone.  "The  man  was  in  some  trouble 
last  summer,  I  believe.  And  when  you  were  well  rid  of  him, 
it  was  best  so  to  stay." 

' '  I  was  not  well  rid  of  him.  That  was  the  difficulty.  If  he 
would  only  leave  the  place." 

"I  should  make  him." 

Victor  smiled  rather  dubiously. 

"Suppose  it  comes  to  a  trial  of  strength — wills ?" 

"I  am  the  master  here;"  and  a  white  line  of  resolution 
showed  about  his  mouth. 

"Very  well,  very  well  !"  laughing  in  her  heartsome,  breezy 
fashion.  "You  will  do,  I  think;"  studying  him  shrewdly. 
"  But  are  you  not  confining  yourself  too  closely?  You  are  a 
rare  guest  at  Cragness. " 

"  I  have  little  time,"  coloring  warmly.  "And  the  house  is 
already  full  of  guests." 

' '  There  is  always  room  for  you,  mind.  I  am  an  old  woman, 
and  I  do  not  like  to  be  neglected.  The  truth  is  out" 

It  was  but  half  a  truth,  however.  She  felt  a  little  irritated 
at  the  non-success  of  her  matrimonial  scheme,  which  did  not 
seem  to  advance  a  step. 

"  I  do  not  wish  it  to  be  construed  into  neglect,"  he  answered 
with  grave  politeness.  "  My  father  is  fond  of  having  me  spend 
the  evenings  with  him.  Doctor  Trewartha  has  worked  wonders 
in  his  case." 

"Trewartha  is  in  high  feather  at  St.  Albans  ;"  and  it  seemed 
as  if  there  was  a  little  displeasure  in  her  tone.  "  He  is  going 
over  to  the  aristocracy  fast.  There's  a  grand  lady  staying  there 
whose  case  has  puzzled  the  whole  medical  faculty,  I  believe  ; 
and  he  has  tried  his  hand  with  remarkable  success.  As  if  it 
were  anything  but  idleness,  and  dissipation,  and  whims.  I'm 


272  With  Fate  against  Him. 

near  to  seventy,  and  have  never  had  a  troublesome  nerve  in  my 
body ;  but  I'm  not  a  fine,  finical  woman,  thank  the  Lord  1" 

"I  heard  him  say  he  had  a  case  there,"  Victor  answered, 
absently. 

"Yes.  The  Gilliats  are  lords  in  one  of  the  southern 
counties.  He  has  been  senator  from  his  district,  and  minister 
abroad  ;  and  Mrs.  Gilliat  is  a  remarkably  handsome  woman, 
I  believe.  Now  she  has  time  to  nurse  all  her  whims  and 
ailments." 

She  gave  her  old  contemptuous  snort,  and  wheeled  round  as 
if  defiantly  confronting  an  enemy. 

' '  And  since  I  am  gossiping,  I  may  as  well  say  that  Sylvia 
Redmond  has  taken  a  fool  and  a  fortune — the  Gilliat  heir  ! 
They  are  to  be  married  in  the  fall.  I  hope  Margaret  Redmond 
is  satisfied." 

It  was  true,  then.  He  had  feared  as  much  the  day  he  saw 
them  together.  And  had  not  this  been  Sylvia's  dream  ? 

"  The  child  does  as  she  is  bidden,  though  I  expected  better 
things  of  her."  An  indignant  flutter  still  in  her  voice.  "Mar 
garet  Randolph  ran  away  with  a  poor  gentleman,  the  most 
useless  thing  on  God's  earth.  Why,  yonder  weed  is  of  more 
real  service.  Perhaps  she  loved  him — if  so,  it  was  soon  over. 
I  never  heard  that  he  treated  her  badly  ;  but  he  had  no  energy, 
no  back-bone,  and  when  his  money  was  spent  he  fell  back 
upon  writing  prosy  essays  and  translating  Latin  poems.  He 
could  not  go  to  work  like  a  man,  but  must  palter  over  a  sleepy 
spark  of  genius,  with  a  helpless,  inefficient  woman  tied  rounck.. 
his  neck,  and  frail  of  course.  I've  not  much  faith  in  genius. 
They  used  to  make  long  visits  at  the  Braisteds,  and  heaven 
only  knows  how  they  managed.  I  would  have  gone  out  wash 
ing  or  sewing ;"  her  face  flushing  with  the  energy  of  her 
feelings.  "  Sylvia  was  a  little  yellow-haired  girl  about  nine,  I 
think,  when  one  winter  her  father  went  to  New  York  to  hear 
about  some  situation  or  other,  and  never  came  back."  . 

"But  he  died—" 


With  Fate  against  Him.  273 

"  I  suppose  so,"  snapping  off  her  words  as  if  they  were 
hard  to  credit.  "The  tidings  came  in  a  roundabout  way. 
I'd  be  loth  to  think  wrong  of  any  one,  but  I  don't  believe  she 
was  sorry.  She  went  home  to  her  father,  was  forgiven,  and 
bequeathed  a  share  of  the  family  property.  Then  she  journeyed 
abroad  with  her  friend  Mrs.  Gilliat — our  poor  American  moths 
must  singe  themselves  in  Paris  flame.  Sylvia  and  her  gover 
ness  were  left  behind." 

There  was  a  pause,  in  which  Mrs.  McRae  broke  a  branch  of 
cedar  and  fanned  herself  violently  with  it 

"  I  think  little  Sylvia  worthy  of  a  better  fate,  unless  she  is 
fool  enough  to  love  young  Gilliat,  who  isn't  the  kind  of  man 
I  should  choose  for  a  daughter  of  mine,"  with  a  dry,  derisive 
smile.  "But  girls  of  the  present  day  think  only  of  a  fine 
establishment,  and  Sylvia  was  badly  bitten  with  the  glories  of 
Rothermel.  Trewartha  declares  that  it  is  the  finest  estate  in 
the  country.  I  wish  her  joy  ;"  in  an  ironical  tone.  "There  ! 
I've  gossiped  like  any  old  fish-woman.  Come  to  tea  to-morrow 
night — I  shall  expect  you.  Daisy,"  to  the  sleek,  shining 
mare,  "  stir  your  steps,  my  fine  lady." 

So,  nodding,  she  drove  off.  Victor  watched  the  wheels  as 
they  spun  round,  leaving  a  track  of  fine  dust  in  their  wake, 
and  studied  the  strong,  upright  figure.  How  mercilessly  she 
had  demolished  Sylvia's  mother  1  And  Sylvia  ! 

Then  he  thought  of  the  night  at  Bohmerwald.  She  had 
been  bitten  by  the  Gilliat  grandeur  even  then,  and  that  puny, 
cowardly  fellow  was  a  hero  in  her  eyes.  He  had  been  wild 
enough  to  envy  them,  to  imagine  their  birth,  wealth,  and 
station  stood  for  true  nobility  in  the  world.  That  foolish,  long- 
ago  time,  with  its  boyish  hopes  turned  to  dust  and  ashes, 
fretted  him  now  as  he  mused  over  it.  Yet  he  was  glad  that 
never  by  word  or  look  had  he  tried  to  bring  himself  to  Sylvia's 
mind,  to  be  despised  and  laughed  at. 

<     And  yet  how  royally  sweet  and  piquant  she  had  been  in 
some  moods,  with  her  soft,  dewy  clear  eyes,  her  red  lips  quiv- 


274  With  Fate  against  Him. 

ering  like  rose-leaves  in  a  balmy  wind,  and  the  silvery  voice 
dropping  liquid  tones  like  a  half-hidden  streamlet  on  a  sum 
mer  day.  Bright,  changeful,  radiant,  a  creature  to  be  loved 
and  petted,  shielded  from  all  storms  and  adversities.  Would 
she  have  the  care  and  tenderness  with  her  gold  ? 

Then  he  went  back  to  the  quarry.  He  knew  well  that  there 
was  a  spirit  of  dissatisfaction  gaining  ground,  and  he  suspected, 
in  spite  of  the  required  promise,  that  Jarvis  and  two  or  three 
others  brought  their  drams  in  their  pockets.  But  he  deter 
mined  to  struggle  against  the  tide  alone.  Mrs.  McRae  should 
not  find  him  weak  at  the  most  important  crisis; 

It  came  before  he  was  really  prepared,  and  in  a  manner  he 
little  expected.  One  Monday  morning  he  found  the  men 
drawn  up  in  martial  array  in  front  of  the  excavation. 

They  all  touched  their  hats,  so  formidable  a  weapon  is 
politeness.  Jarvis  stepped  forward  as  spokesman. 

The  story  briefly  told  was  this — the  miners  in  the  next 
county  had  struck  for  wages  as  well  as  the  stone-cutters  in  two 
or  three  districts,  and  they  demanded  the  modest  advance  of 
half  a  dollar  a  day.  There  would  be  no  more  work  until  the 
request  was  complied  with. 

The  hot  blood  rushed  to  Victor's  brow,  and  steely  gleams 
flashed  from  his  eyes. 

"  Your  wages  were  twenty  cents  a  day  more  than  those  in 
any  quarry  of  which  we  could  hear,"  he  replied,  calmly. 
'*It  is  not  my  province  altogether  to  answer  this  demand  ; 
but  if  it  were,  I  should  decline  at  once.  I  will  give  you  an 
answer  at  twelve." 

They  bowed  and  retired.  Victor  drove  to  Cragness  immedi 
ately,  but  Mrs.  McRae  had  gone  to  the  mill,  so  he  followed 
her  thither. 

"Well,  what  do  you  propose?"  her  strong,  shrewd  face 
kindling  into  a  peculiar  smile  as  she  listened  to  the  story. 

"  I  should  prefer  to  part  with  some  of  the  men,  and  I  think 


With  Fate  against  Him.  2/5 

the  wages  sufficiently  high.  But  for  miles  around  they  are 
standing  out  on  strikes." 

"  Have  you  taken  your  contract  into  consideration  ?" 

"  I  could  hold  out  a  month,  if  no  assistance  came  to  hand  ; 
but  I  fancy  that  I  could  find  half  the  men  I  want  in  Taunton. 
It  is  not  altogether  the  wages.  There  is  a  grudge  against  me 
because  I  am  young,  and  was  not  brought  up  to  the  business." 

That  fired  her.  She  would  stand  by  a  comrade  until  the 
last  gasp. 

"It  is  nothing  to  them  so  long  as  you  understand  it.  Let 
them  leave  in  a  body,  insolent  wretches  that  they  are  !  Not 
another  cent  will  I  pay.  I  think  they  all  know  Janet  McRae's 
word. " 

Victor  was  relieved  and  armed.  He  went  back  and  gave 
the  mutinous  men  their  answer.  Half  a  dozen  hung  about 
undecided.  It  was  plain  that  they  had  reconsidered  and  were 
loth  to  go. 

"You  have 'had  very  little  to  complain  of;"  and  Victor's 
clear  voice  rang  out  sharp  and  crisp.  "Any  man  who  is 
dissatisfied  with  the  wages  may  pack  up  his  tools  and  go  at 
once. " 

He  was  in  no  mood  to  parley,  so  he  turned  away  haughtily. 

"  He's  backed  by  a  woman,"  exclaimed  Jarvis,  with  a  coarse 
laugh.  "  We  don't  give  in  to  no  such  rule,  boys." 

A  faint  cheer  went  up,  the  echoes  reaching  Victor,  and  a 
little  frown  contracted  his  brow. 

But  that  evening  half  a  dozen  recreant  ones  waited  upon 
him  at  the  cottage  and  expressed  entire  willingness  to  resume 
work  in  the  morning. 

"Very  well,"  he  answered.  "I  shall  go  to  Taunton  to 
look  up  some  new  hands.  You  may  take  your  old  places." 

He  paid  them  a  brief  call  before  -he  went,  and  found 
matters  progressing  satisfactorily.  The  men  were  rather 
ashamed,  but  not  sullen,  and  accepted  the  situation  frankly. 


276  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Victor  Hurst  spent  most  of  his  day  at  Taunton.  A  stone 
cutter  had  mentioned  two  or  three  idle  quarrymen,  and  they 
in  turn  knew  of  several  others.  By  night  he  had  a  dozen 
engaged  for  the  ensuing  week.  But  on  his  return  home  he 
learned  that  the  disaffected  had  visited  the  quarry  in  a  mob, 
and  compelled  the  few  to  retire. 

It  had  come,  then,  to  open  war.  Victor  considered  well  what 
step  was  most  prudent,  and  when  he  had  resolved,  paid  Mrs. 
McRae  a  call  and  detailed  the  particulars. 

"Excellent,"  she  said.  "It  will  not  do  to  allow  a  few 
bullies  to  rule  us  in  that  fashion.  One  or  two  warm  receptions 
will  suffice  for  them,  I  think.  Trewartha  admires  what  he 
terms  your  pluck,  immensely.  He  will  laugh  over  this.  Nay, 
do  not  go — "  as  he  rose.  You  so  seldom  take  a  holiday. 

The  clear  blue  eyes  softened  to  persuasion,  and,  as  he  had 
no  good  excuse,  he  stayed.  There  were  no  guests,  so  Mrs. 
McRae  summoned  Ruth  and  left  them  together. 

There  had  grown  up  between  these  two  people  a  peculiar 
silent  friendship.  There  was  a  fine  strength  in  Ruth  Gamier, 
steady  nerves  under  the  waxen  skin,  and  a  subtile  light 
emanating  now  and  then  from  her  soul  that  attracted  Victor. 
Her  temperament  was  so  healthy,  so  free  from  morbidness,  and 
her  thoughts  flowed  in  such  straightforward  channels.  They 
had  lifted  him  out  of  himself  more  than  once.  She  had  never 
known  the  grinding  exactions  of  poverty,  nor  the  keener  pangs 
of  a  conscience  tortured  in  its  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  until 
it  flies  in  the  face  of  heaven  with  some  almost  blasphemous 
question  or  demand. 

And  though  her  occupations  had  been  rather  narrow,  or  at 
least  confined  to  one  sphere,  her  soul  had  grown  noiselessly, 
unheeded  even  by  herself.  Perhaps  never  so  much  as  in  the 
last  five  months,  but  she  had  a  way  of  pushing  aside  perplex 
ing  questions  that  did  not  concern  her  daily  life.  When  she 
first  had  her  lesson,  for  though  Janet  McRae  had  never  put  it 
in  so  many  words,  she  fell  instinctively  what  was  required  of 


With  Fate  against  Him.  277 

her ;  and  had  Victor  been  in  the  slightest  degree  lover-like,  the 
womanly  part  of  her  nature  would  have  understood  and 
rebelled  with  the  same  pain  that  it  had  given  her  to  see  Sylvia 
and  Trewartha  together;  but  this  slow  pulse  of  friendship 
never  sent  any  hot,  questioning  blood  to  her  heart. 

To-day  she  was  calm  and  bright,  with  the  warmth  of  an 
October  sun  rather  than  July's  vivid  heats.  The  sewing  that 
had  once  been  so  much  of  a  habit  had  fallen  into  disuse  this 
summer,  since  there  had  been  guests  to  entertain,  and  daily 
rides  to  the  Hurst  Cottage,  with  a  not  infrequent  accompani 
ment  of  long  calls. 

They  talked  more  than  usual  on  this  day.  Doctor  Tre 
wartha,  sauntering  up  the  lawn  at  mid-afternoon,  heard  their 
voices  in  the  shrubbery,  and  went  straightway  thither.  She 
had  been  gathering  a  handful  of  late  roses  for  Mrs.  Hurst. 

If  Frank  Trewartha  had  been  in  any  doubt  before,  he 
knew  now  what  touch  of  fire  sped  along  his  nerves  like  light 
ning.  His  passions  were  all  marvellously  under  control,  but 
this  black  demon  could  not  be  mistaken,  and  reared  its  crest 
with  keen  energy.  While  there  had  been  no  real  danger  he 
could  afford  to  dally,  to  attract  her  to-day  and  let  her  go  to 
morrow  ;  but  what  did  this  bloom  on  her  cheek,  and  this 
dangerous  softness  of  her  deep  eyes  portend?  Victor  Hurst 
was  undeniably  handsome,  and  in  such  a  mood  as  this  might 
prove  fascinating. 

Victor  went  home  rather  more  elated  than  usual.     He  had 
gained  sufficient  courage  to  measure  himself  with  his  peers, 
and  the  result  had  not  been  absolute  discomfiture.     It  was  well 
to  have  his  armor  bright,  and  fitting  well,  before  he  went  out^ 
to  try  the  broader  world. 

The  mood  had  not  altogether  left  him  when  he  rambled 
down  to  the  deserted  quarry  the  next  afternoon.  He  remem 
bered  the  sweet,  petulant  lips  that  had  called  it  his  studio,  and 
he  smiled  softly  at  the  conceit.  Also  the  older  fancy  that,  armed 
with  the  work  of  brain  and  hand,  he  would  one  day  dare  to 


278  With  Fate  against  Him. 

present  himself  before  her.  He  could  never  do  it  now.  He 
dimly  guessed,  from  the  treasures  of  Doctor  Trewartha's  house, 
what  Rothermel  must  be,  with  its  beauty,  its  art  and  statuary 
gathered  from  the  choicest  of  every  clime.  His  work  would 
be  crude  and  paltry  beside  it. 

He  had  half-buried  a  strong  box,  such  as  the  workmen  used 
for  their  tools,  at  the  side  of  the  rock  in  a  leafy  recess.  The 
quiet  hours  that  were  stolen  from  his  other  cares  he  had  spent 
here,  nursing  his  old  ambition.  After  his  duties  here  were  all 
performed,  he  would  still  have  years  enough  to  make  some 
thing  out  of  himself.  Life  was  so  much  larger  and  grander 
than  he  used  to  fancy  it  amid  the  smoke  at  Weareham.  In  this 
fresh  inspiring  air,  and  with  these  people  of  broader  souls, 
his  o\vn  was  coming  up  to  its  fall  stature. 

He  unlocked  his  treasure-trove  now,  and  took  out  his 
tools,  his  work.  He  was  in  a  peculiar  mood  to-day,  and  picked 
up  a  little  bust  for  which  he  had  obtained  a  block  of  marble. 
It  was  nearly  finished,  yet  it  seemed  as  if  all  his  life  he  might 
go  on  adding  touches,  and  it  would  still  fall  short  of  his 
dream.  But  after  a  few  strokes  he  dropped  his  tiny  chisel,  and 
leaning  his  chin  on  the  palm  of  his  hand,  began  to  dream. 
It  was  so  weirdly  still  here  in  the  woods  on  this  August  day, 
quite  as  if  he  was  in  some  far  realm  of  imagination. 

How  many  moments  elapsed  before  a  step  startled  him  he 
hardly  knew.  He  sprang  up  flushed  and  haughty  to  face 
Doctor  Trewartha,  who  laughed  genially. 

"Upon  my  word,  Hurst,  I  am  a  friend  and  no  dangerous 
enemy.  Don't  glower  at  me  in  that  fearful  manner." 

The  startled  look  relaxed,  but  the  flush  grew  deeper. 

"I  really  could  not  help  it.  Your  mother  said  you  had 
gone  down  to  the  quarry,  and  being  in  an  idle  mood,  I  took 
to  rambling  round  when  I  could  not  find  you,  until  I  caught 
a  glimpse  of  your  figure  here." 

Victor  felt  that  his  secret  had  been  discovered.  How  many 
times  he  had  been  tempted  to  confess  it  to  Trewartha  !  But 


With  Fate  against  Him.  279 

now  a  great  doubt  and  misgiving  seized^  him.  What  if  this 
verdict  should  be  as  crushing  as  another." 

"  Well,"  Trewartha  said,  a  little  wounded  at  the  silence, 
"shall  I  go  as  I  came?  I  need  not  force  myself  upon  your 
confidence." 

' '  No,  no, "  reaching  out  his  hand  ;  ' '  my  work  may  look 
poor  and  paltry  to  your  eyes  ;  but  judge  me  from  the  small 
chance,  rather  than  the  scanty  results." 

Trewartha  came  nearer  with  that.  Victor  tumbled  over  two 
others  done  in  the  quarry-stone,  his  manner  confused  and 
diffident. 

"Oh,  this  is  a  success  !  I  never  saw  Janet  McRae  put  in 
stone  before  ;  but  it  is  a  correct  translation  of  the  woman's 
strength,  the  outer  bark  of  roughness,  and  the  grand,  imperious, 
arbitrary  soul  within.  Did  she  sit  to  you  ?" 

"  No,"  in  a  little  surprise. 

"You  carry  her  about  well  in  your  heart,  then.  I've  seen 
worse  things  than  that  done  by  finished  artists.  Does  she 
know  it?" 

"She  does  not,"  rather  frigidly.  "It  has  been  my  idle-hour 
amusement." 

Trewartha's  mellow  laugh  floated  down  the  ledge  in  rippling 
echoes. 

"And  this?"  Something  beyond  a  head  and  shoulders,  for 
opposite,  almost  touching  the  face  and  yet  apart,  was  a  tiny 
rough  crag  with  a  slender  thread  of  water  trickling  down. 

"I  think  I  know,"  in  a  slow,  musing  tone.  "The  myth 
of  Tantalus.  It  seems  to  me  the  old  heathen  had  just  what 
he  deserved.  Why  have  you  put  a  new  meaning  into  his 
face?" 

"  It  stood  for  something  else  with  me  ;"  in  a  half  hesitating 
tone,  dropping  the  large  lids  over  eyes  that  were  steel  gray 
now. 

Trewartha  scrutinized  the  young  face,  where  boyish  lines  or 
emotion  came  so  rarely. 


280  With  Fate  against  Him. 

""You  have  studied  before,"  he  said,  with  an  almost  angry 
impetuousness.  "It  is  not  an  altogether  new  thing,  working 
out  bits  of  your  soul  in  stone.  And  yet  I  don't  see  how  you 
ever  found  any  opportunity — " 

"I  never  did,"  calmly,  the  face  growing  pale  and  set. 
"  This  thought  entered  my  mind  the  first  day  I  went  to  Taun- 
ton  with  Mrs.  McRae.  In  a  marble-yard  a  figure  was  being 
carved  for  a  tombstone.  It  may  be  a  long  way  from  that 
to  art — " 

"You  are  bridging  it  over  fiercely,  Hurst J  This  is  Sylvia 
Redmond,  only  you  have  fashioned  the  child's  face  too  high 
and  fine  for  the  wife  of  Eustace  Gilliat.  In  ten  years  she  will 
lower  to  his  level,  become  a  weak,  fashionable,  fine  woman. 
Another  poor  moth  caught." 

"It  might  have  been  different,  I  think,"  averting  his  face, 
and  chipping  at  the  bit  of  gray  rock  under  his  hand. 

"  Might  have  beens  are  the  wrecks  of  the  world.  You  find 
them  stranded  on  all  the  shores  along  life,"  and  Trewartha 
gave  a  keen,  satirical  smile.  "  Is  it  a  kind  of  regretful  excuse 
appealing  to  our  self-love?  So  few  of  us  would  be  willing  to 
admit  that  we  had  been  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found 
wanting.  And  surely  Sylvia  would  have  to  go  farther  back  than 
her  parents  to  find  much  stamina." 

"  So  you  saddle  the  children  with  their  father's  sins  !"  Victor 
exclaimed,  as  if  in  a  mood  of  unreasonable  anger. 

"Hasn't  Holy  Writ  declared  it?  Yet  men  and  women  go 
on  perpetuating  themselves,  their  follies,  weaknesses,  crimes, 
and  wonder  that  the  world  is  full  of  sin.  Faugh  !  But  that's 
theology  or  ethics  rather  than  art.  So  you  have  taken  this  up 
for  the  first  time  this  summer  ?" 

Victor  felt  curt  and  ungracious.  He  was  sore  at  heart,  his 
natural  disposition,  circumstances,  and  the  tenor  of  his  whole 
life  disposed  him  to  reticence.  And  then  the  keen,  mortifying 
thought  of  failure  stung  him  to  the  quick.  So  he  studied  Tre- 
wartha's  face  furtively. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  281 

A  face  cultured  to  something  larger  than  mere  worldly  uses  ; 
an  outgrowth  of  health,  satisfaction,  experience,  and  rare  intel 
ligence.  If  he  could  have  such  a  friend  1 

"It  dates  farther  back  than  that,"  he  said,  with  a  rapid,  forced 
frankness,  as  if  in  the  next  moment's  mood  he  might  repent 
and  withdraw  the  confidence.  "The  only  business  fancy  of 
my  boyhood  was  engraving  ;  but  a  man  who  would  have  taken 
me,  was  a  person  of  very  loose,  irregular  habits,  and  I  must 
have  gone  to  New  York  alone.  A  higher  authority  than  mine 
overruled  it.  Then  as  I  neared  manhood  I  took  to  rude 
sketching — like  this." 

From  a  time-worn  portfolio,  he  produced  several  of  the  old 
sketches.  Trewartha  seated  himself  on  the  rock,  and  began  to 
examine  them. 

' '  You  had  models  ?" 

"  I  used  to  study  the  men  in  the  shop,  with  their  brawny 
arms,  and  chests,  and  resolute  faces.  Is  it  true  that  rough 
physical  vigor  and  work  drains  the  brain,  starves  it  ?  This 
man  was  a  drunkard — Connor.  Was  it  the  evil  in  him,  or 
circumstances?" 

"  A  little  of  both  ;"  dryly.     "  You  had  a  teacher?" 

"Not  for  those." 

"  Ah,  here  is  the  Tantalus  !"  Trewartha  raised  his  eyes  and 
studied  Victor's  face  critically.  "  I  think  I  understand ;" 
slowly,  and  with  an  air  of  penetration  accenting  the  brow  and 
eyes.  "It  was  not  mere  physical  thirst.  It  is  a  type  of  some 
thing  finer,  farther  off;  the  desire  for  some  end  not  distinctly 
in  view,  but  felt,  nevertheless  ;  a  soul  process  crying  out  through 
the  blank,  dark  night ;  a  passion  that  cou\$  not  be  put  in 
words.  Yes,  I  understand  it ;"  half  absently,  as  if  he  were 
talking  to  himself. 

"When  I  came  to  have  money  of  my  own  ;"  and  Victor 
tried  to  steady  his  voice,  that  would  be  tremulous  with  all  the 
ache  and  agony  of  the  past,  "when  I  was  my  own  master,  I 
took  some  lessons  in  painting." 


282  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"Well  ?"  in  a  curious  indrawn  voice. 

"It  was  a  failure  !"  bitterly,  with  a  keen  remembered  sting. 
"Look  at  that  picture  beyond  !"  indicating  the  slant  sunshine 
on  a  bit  of  rock,  and  a  clump  of  stunted  bushes  standing  out 
distinctly  in  the  still  afternoon  air.  "  As  if  even  that  simple 
thing  were  not  utterly  beyond  a  man's  power  of  translation  !" 

"  You  tried  such  things — nature  ?" 

"  Yes.    I  learned  then  that  I  was  never  meant  for  an  artist" 

Trewartha  saw  the  fine,  struggling,  but  still  enslaved  soul  in 
the  tortured  eyes,  the  skin  where  nerves  full  of  red  heat  flamed 
up,  and  as  suddenly  turned  ice-cold. 

"  No,  Hurst,  I  don't  think  you  were  meant  to  paint  rocks 
and  trees,  or  still-life  of  any  kind.  You  would  be  much  more 
likely  to  strike  a  soul  out  of  yonder  marble ;  to  bring  some 
inner  passion  to  the  surface." 

"You  think  that?"  in  a  faint,  unbelieving  tone,  the  eyelids 
drooping  over  a  great  joy. 

"I  believe  it  with  all  my  heart  But  those  things  take — 
years. " 

"Yes;"  with  grateful,  unappeased  hunger. 

"But  I  do  not  understand  why  you  came  down  here,  when 
the  doors  of  Cragness  were  open  to  you.  You  read  Janet 
McRae  wrongly." 

"I  had  myself  to  read  as  well;"  in  a  hoarse,  quavering 
voice. 

"Ah,  you  geniuses  have  always  a  sore,  sensitive  pride  that 
pricks  you  inwardly.  If  you  had  been  afraid  of  failure  you 
need  not  have  confessed  all.  She  would  have  waited  cheer 
fully." 

Victor  made  no  reply.  Trewartha  rose  and  paced  the  small 
green  enclosure,  wondering  at  the  pride  or  diffidence. 

"Hurst,"  he  began  presently,    "I  think  you  know  Janet 
McRae's  intentions.     She  has  reared  a  daughter,  but  that  does 
not  satisfy  her.     Like  all  strong-souled  women  she  has  a  cr 
ing  after  a  man-child.     And  you  are  of  her  lineage — a  gc    '.. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  283 

brave,  old  stock.  Why  not  go  up  to  yonder  grim,  gray  man 
sion  and  take  your  birthright  ?  It  will  come  to  you  when  she 
is  dead.  Is  youth  so  pitiless  that  it  must  thrust  aside  help,  love  ?" 

"It  is  not  that."  Victor  Hurst's  voice  had  a  curiously 
hollow  sound  in  it,  like  a  dying  man's  last  grasp  on  life.  "  It 
is  not  that.  She  offered  me  a  chance  to  begin  life  anew,  and 
I  had  to  do  it  in  some  other  place  beside  Weareham.  I  came 
to  work,  to  care  for  my  parents.  Whatever  dreams  I  might 
have  had,  were  my  own,"  a  fierce  scarlet  blazing  up  in  his 
cheek.  "When  my  duty  is  ended,  when  I  am  free,  I  shall 
leave  Cragness  for  all  time.  You  said  she  had  a  daughter — 
Cragness  is  Ruth  Garnier's  heritage." 

' '  I  never  heard  it  so  termed  save  by  gossip." 

"I  think  it  will  be  right.     I  have  no  claim." 

"There  is  something  under  all  this,  unreasoning  child. 
Tell  me  truly — have  you  loved  Ruth  Gamier?"  and  Trewartha 
held  his  breath. 

"Loved  her?  No."  An  air  of  surprise  lifting  the  sharply- 
defined  bronze  brows. 

"  Well,"  Trewartha  said,  deliberately,  "  I  will  tell  you  my 
side  of  the  story.  There  is  no  fool  like  an  old  fool !  /  love 
Ruth  Gamier.  Janet  McRae  has  developed  a  handsome, 
healthy  body^-I  shall  quicken  the  soul.  Yet  I  know  it  is  her 
plan  that  you  two  shall  marry." 

"It  could  never,  never  be,"  in  a  slow,  passionless,  but 
assured  tone.  "  It  must  be  years  before  I  marry — if  ever." 

"  I  have  enough  for  her  without  Cragness.  Madame  McRae 
will  be  angry  and  storm — then,  at  the  back  of  the  April  shower 
will  shine  the  golden  sun  in  its  bed  of  peerless  blue.  Ruth 
will  have  a  handsome  dowry,  and  then — the  lioness  will  be 
left  alone  in  her  lair.  Think  again,  Victor  Hurst,  before  you 
throw  up  your  hand.  Genius  is  never  the  worse  for  tender 
nurture,  no  matter  what  your  hard,  material  souls  may  say  in 
their  foolish  prating  of  inner  development.  I  hold  out  to  you 
a  brother's  hand.  Think  again." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

WHY  not  take  the  good  the  gods  provided  and  be  thankful  ? 
Was  he  to  carry  about  with  him  forever  the  result  and  punish 
ment  of  another  man's  sin  ?  Was  that  God's  justice  and 
mercy  ?  Ah,  none  knew  more  truly  than  he  what  the  unused 
wealth  of  Cragness  might  do  for  him  in  saving  hard,  long, 
wearisome  years.  He  had  only  to  yield,  to  keep  silence,  to 
thrust  the  unclean  thing  out  of  sight. 

He  remembered  one  evening,  when  they  had  been  sitting  in 
the  light  of  the  blazing,  odorous  pine-logs,  the  brilliant  glow 
shining  full  upon  Janet  McRae's  strong,  clear  face,  that  she 
had  said  in  answer  to  some  whim  of  Sylvia  Redmond — 

"There  never  was  a  lord  nor  a  lady  among  the  McRaes, 
except  as  God  made  them;  but  you  might  call  them  from  their 
graves  and  they  could  show  hands  with  the  cleanest.  Not  a 
crime  nor  stain,  never  any  meanness,  any  foul  grasping  avarice, 
or  the  shadow  of  falsehood,  which  is  always  treason.  A  loyal, 
manful  race." 

There  had  been  a  flush  and  a  flicker  of  pain  in  his  mother's 
face,  a  sudden  sinking  in  the  lines  that  should  have  been  able 
to  show  a  brave  front.  And  if  he  took  his  place  up  yonder 
he  should  be  living  a  lie  and  a  treason  daily;  if  he  confessed — 
he  knew  now  that  it  was  a  sin  Janet  McRae  would  never  forgive. 
Women  were  always  pitiless  to  their  fellow-women,  and  hunted 
them  down.  No,  it  could  never  be.  Let  him  work  out  his 
own  salvation.  There  were  long,  brave  years  before  him,  and 
out  in  the  world  he  could  fight  this  black  shadow  of  fate, 
coming  off  conqueror. 

But  he  took  Trewartha's  proffered  hand 


With  Fate  against  Him.  285 

"I  cannot  tell  you  all  my  reasons,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  still 
husky  with,  the  terror  and  shame  that  he  kept  bravely  out  of 
his  face.  "  If  there  should  ever  come  a  day  when  you  and  she 
know  them,  I  think  you  will  absolve  me  from  ingratitude,  at 
least.  I  told  Mrs.  McRae  months  ago  what  I  considered  my 
duty.  I  have  performed  it  faithfully  since.  The  generous 
offer  cannot  be  repaid  ;  but  I  shall  make  myself  no  loss  to 
her  when  I  drop  quietly  out  of  the  lives  of  all  who  have 
known  me." 

Trewartha  had  the  grace  of  exceeding  patience.  It  was 
worse  than  useless  to  rasp  this  fine,  sensitive  soul  and  drag 
up  its  secrets.  Sooner  or  later  every  hidden  thing  came  to 
light — it  was  one  of  nature's  laws. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "  tell  me  the  rest  of  your  plans,  or  rather 
your  story  from  that  point.  You  gave  up  the  painting  ?" 

The  straightforward  voice  was  utterly  devoid  of  curiosity, 
and  the  kindiy  beaming  eyes  were  more  than  friendly. 

"Yes.  I  had  a  verdict  upon  it,  but  before  that  I  had  con 
vinced  myself;"  looking  away  at  the  distant  blue  mountain- 
tops. 

"Then  you  threw  yourself  into  the  vexed  breach?"  and 
Trewartha  laughed  genially,  a  mellow  salve  to  draw  the  stings 
from  the  other's  wound. 

"Yes.  I  still  think  the  cause  was  good.  The  question 
was — should  we  fill  rich  men's  warehouses  at  low  prices  simply 
because  the  present  demand  had  ceased,  and  give  them  the 
weapon  to  fight  us  in  the  spring  when  business  became  brisk  ? 
Prices  for  labor  come  down  so  much  more  readily  than  they 
advance." 

"Judging  from  your  face,  Hurst,  I  should  say  the  whole 
question  of  trade  was  distasteful  to  you." 

"  I  was  put  into  it,  pushed  over  on  the  labor  side,"  and  he 
gave  a  hollow,  bitter  laugh. 

"And  now  you  have  taken  the  step  deliberately." 

"I  am  not  ashamed  of  it.     Whatever  pride  there  maybe 


286  With  Fate  against  Him. 

in  my  soul,  God  knows  it  is  not  that.  But  a  man  can't 
help  longing  for  what  he  loves  best,  and  floundering  about 
in  the  sea  of  uncertainty  until  his  foot  touches  the  rock  whereon 
he  is  to  rear  his  standard  or  coral  isjand.  So  1  have  tried  to 
work  my  idea  out  in  these  bits  of  stone.  I  think  faces  and 
passions  appeal  to  me  more  strongly  than  the  sun  glinting  a 
bit  of  water,  or  a  cluster  of  autumn  leaves. " 

"You  are  right  there." 

Victor  glanced  up,  eyes  and  cheeks  aflame. 

"Yes.  In  one  sense  those  are  remarkable,  because  they 
express  the  force  of  genius.  The  things  that  are  lacking  will 
come  by  practice.  Fineness  of  touch — for  see,  this  is  marble 
and  not  Sylvia  Redmond's  soft,  sinuous  hair,  and  these  nostrils 
lack  her  nervous  flexibility.  But  the  mouth  has  a  dignity  and 
strength  beyond  hers." 

The  discriminating  praise  was  precious  indeed. 

"  You  mean  to  go  on  ?" 

"Yes.  May  I  ask  you  to  keep  my  secret?  It  is  very  dear 
to  me. " 

"You  expect  to  carve,  and  to  subdue  your  mutinous 
rebels?"  with  his  peculiar  smile.  "  Your  own  weapon  turned 
against  you,  Hurst" 

"They  have  hardly  my  excuse.  I  do  not  believe  it  so 
much  a  question  of  wages  as  of  supremacy.  Jarvis  and 
Finch  brought  their  whisky-bottles  in  defiance  of  rules  and 
promises.  By  mid-afternoon  half  the  men  were  drunken  and 
insolent,  and  cared  little  how  the  work  was  done.  I  have 
taken  the  quarry  on  certain  conditions,  and  it  is  my  duty  to 
see  them  respected,  enforced. " 

He  looked  as  if  he  might  do  it  easily,  rising  now  and  folding 
his  lithe  arms  across  his  broad  chest.  And  Trewartha  felt  for 
once  nonplussed.  This  man  neither  cared  to  marry  Ruth 
Gamier  nor  to  have  Cragness,  it  seemed. 

"I  shall  be  anxious  to  hear  how  you  succeed,  on  Monday. 
Will  you  not  give  me  a  friend's  place,  Hurst  ?  If  you  will 


With  Fate  against  Him.  287 

accept  no  pecuniary  aid  from  any  one,  you  might  take  a  little 
interest,  sympathy. 

"I  shall  be.  very  glad  to  have  that  from  you,"  and  he 
clasped  Trewartha's  hand  in  both  of  his.  "If  you  will 
accept  me  as  I  am — it  is  no  foolish,  over-sensitive  freak,  be 
lieve  me." 

"We  all  have  our  little  mysteries,"  was  the  answer,  in  a  dry* 
but  not  unpleasant  tone.      "Come  up  to  the  Cedars  and  study 
the   beauty  there.      Perhaps  I  shall  not  be  so  poor  a  tutor, 
theoretically.     And  if  you  will  forgive  me  for  having  surrep 
titiously  discovered  your  secret — " 

Victor  smiled,  and  half  inclined  his  head.  Then  he  began 
to  gather  his  tools  and  work,  and  stow  them  in  their  hidingr 
place. 

"Are  you  going  home?  I  will  walk  with  you,  then.  I 
have  not  seen  your  father  for  several  days. " 

These  visits  were  rare  treats  to  John  Hurst.  His  long-dor 
mant  faculties  had  begun  to  assert  their  personality  once  more, 
though  his  limbs  would  always  remain  powerless. 

At  first  he  could  hardly  be  content  with  this  inactive,  help 
less  state.  His  old  anxiety  for  souls  pressed  hardly  upon 
him. 

"  God  will  take  care  of  them  in  His  own  way,"  said  Mrs. 
McRae,  m  her  strong,  energetic  manner.  "That  He  has  laid 
you  aside  is  sure  proof  that  your  hardest  labor  is  over.  He 
is  giving  you  time  now  to  enjoy  His  works,  spread  out  on 
every  side.  The  burden  and  the  heat  of  the  day  is  for  some 
one  else. " 

Was  it  true  that  this  lesson  had  yet  to  be  learned  ?  That 
God  was  in  the  whispering  wind,  the  green,  swaying  gloom  of 
the  trees,  the  purple  nights,  and  the  rosy  mornings  ?  Was  it 
possible  that  in  His  work  he  had  forgotten  this  ? 

They  had  many  an  earnest  discussion,  these  two  persons,  their 
sharp  individuality  clashing  and  engendering  a  healthy  heat  by 
the  friction.  But  Trewartha's  moods  in  the  little  cottage  were 


288  With  Fate  against  Him. 

always  genial.  He  brought  up  his  half  unbeliefs,  his  doubts, 
and  his  small  cynicisms  for  John  Hurst  to  controvert,  and 
laughed  soft  and  mellow  as  the  hazy  sun  on  an  October  day, 
when  he  was  compelled  to  give  up  a  point  But  under  the 
arguments  was  something  that  always  left  him  in  a  more 
serious  mood.  This  man  had  relinquished  everything  for  his 
religion  as  surely  as  those  who  left  all  to  follow  Christ  when  he 
was  upon  earth.  Part  of  the  sacrifice  might  have  been  useless, 
but  he  gave  manfully  of  the  best  he  had.  If  in  the  great 
struggle  his  nerves  had  grown  weak,  and  his  brain  confused, 
God  surely  could  see  that  it  had  been  done  from  most  unself 
ish  motives. 

His  nature  had  softened  a  good  deal,  it  is  true.  He  had 
come  back  to  a  child's  passionate  love  for  flowers  and  singing. 
Anah  sewed  and  sang,  in  her  soft,  tremulous  voice,  all  the 
old  hymns  that  had  stirred  many  a  wandering  or  thought 
less  soul  in  their  little  meetings.  And  sometimes,  as  now, 
Victor's  fine  tenor  and  Trewartha's  baritone,  with  its  organ- 
like  cadences,  made  the  air  full  of  angel  presences  for  the 
man  going  slowly  down  to  the  dark  valley. 

Trewartha  glanced  back  at  them  in  the  moonlight.  The 
fervor  and  faith  was  not  all  fanaticism,  surely.  And  with  it 
came  an  incongruous  thought — where  had  Victor  Hurst  gath 
ered  all  this  unlikeness  to  either  parent  ? 

Monday  soon  came  round.  The  men  were  there  on  the 
stroke  of  the  bell,  sixteen,  old  and  new.  They  went  to  work 
without  the  slightest  interruption,  and  continued  until  noon. 

"Small  fear  of  a  riot,"  Victor  said,  laughingly,  to  the  con 
stable  who  had  come  from  Taunton. 

"  They  may  be  holding  back,"  was  the  answer,  in  a  shrewd 
tone. 

And  holding  back  they  were.  In  the  quiet  of  mid-afternoon 
there  was  a  sudden  onslaught  upon  the  group  of  laborers, 
headed  by  Jarvis  and  Finch.  The  raiders  were  armed  with 
heavy  clubs. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  289 

"We're  going  to  put  a  stop  to  this  'ere,"  exclaimed  Jarvis, 
in  a  thick,  unsteady  tone.  "Part  of  you  men  have  been 
warned  already.  There'll  not  be  another  week's  work  done  in 
this  quarry  until  your  white-livered  boss  comes  up  to  wages  !" 

"We  have  a  right  to  make  our  own  bargains,"  returned  the 
foremost  of  the  gang. 

"  We'll  see.  Drop  your  hammers,  men,  or  you'll  be  forced 
to.  Do  it  peaceably,  and  not  a  soul  shall  be  harmed." 

The  men  kept  steadily  at  their  work  as  if  not  a  word  had 
been  spoken.  Their  coolness  exasperated  the  bully. 

"At  them  !"  he  shouted,  hoarsely,  gathering  effrontery  from 
the  fact  that  no  one  appeared  to  be  within  sight  or  hearing. 

There  was  a  sharp  click  of  a  pistol,  and  the  hurried  steps  of 
those  in  waiting. 

"This  is  for  the  man  who  strikes  the  next  blow,"  said  a 
cool,  steady  voice. 

The  rabble  started  in  affright,  and  two  or  three  of  the  most 
cowardly  ones  dashed  through  the  narrow  opening  to  the  main 
road.  Jarvis  was  seized  from  behind  and  disarmed  before  he 
could  even  turn.  With  a  bitter  oath  he  struggled  to  free  him 
self.  The  party  felt  beaten  without  a  blow. 

' '  Secure  that  one  as  well, "  rang  out  the  voice  as  clearly  as 
before.  ' '  These  two,  Mr.  Hurst,  are  the  ringleaders  ?" 

"Yes,"  Victor  answered. 

"Now,  my  men,"  addressing  the  rest,  "if  you  choose  to 
throw  down  your  murderous  weapons  and  go  home  in  an 
orderly  manner,  nothing  further  will  be  done,  but  the  next 
attempt  will  be  met  with  no  such  leniency.  These  men " 
nodding  to  the  laborers,  "shall  be  protected  in  their  duty,  if 
it  .should  require  a  guard  for  the  next  month.  What  will 
you  do?" 

The  rioters  threw  down  their  clubs  surlily,  and  gave  the 
required  promise. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Victor,  as  one  of  the  laborers 
sat  down  upon  a  pile  of  hewn  stone,  turning  ghastly  pale. 

13 


290  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"  It's  my  arm — broken,  I  believe." 

"Bring  him  some  water.      Let  us  see,  King." 

The  arm,  from  midway  between  elbow  and  wrist,  dangled 
helplessly. 

"Broken,  is  it?"  inquired  Delafield,  the  officer.  "That 
makes  a  case  at  once.  Which  one  struck  you, — Jarvis  ?" 

"No,  I  wish  it  had  been.  He's  the  worst  of  the  lot.  He 
just  missed  my  head.  Finch  gave  me  this  clip." 

I  think  I  should  have  enjoyed  it  being  Jarvis  better  my 
self,"  declared  Victor.  "  You  must  go  to  the  village  immedi 
ately  and  have  it  set." 

"We  can  take  him  in  the  wagon,"  subjoined  Delafield. 
"I  have  just  sent  Markham  for  it." 

Jarvis,  with  his  arms  pinioned  behind  him,  gnashed  his  teeth 
in  impotent  rage.  Glancing  at  Victor,  where  he  stood  calm, 
self-possessed,  and  with  the  peculiar  refinement  of  beauty  most 
exasperating  to  a  coarse  bully,  he  muttered  an  oath  of 
vengeance. 

Markham  soon  made  his  appearance  with  the  wagon.  The 
two  ruffians  sullenly  took  their  places.  King  was  assisted  in, 
and  they  drove  villageward. 

Finch  was  the  greatest  sufferer,  as  he  alone  had  struck  a 
blow,  so  he  was  committed  for  assault;  while  Jarvis,  after 
being  bound  over  to  keep  the  peace,  was  discharged  with  a 
severe  reprimand.  Matters  went  on  quietly  enough  at  the 
quarry  for  the  next  ten  days. 

Mrs.  McRae  came  down  to  see  the  injured  man,  who  was 
snugly  settled  in  a  cottage  with  his  wife  and  children. 

"Let  his  wages  go  on,"  she  said,  peremptorily  to  Victor, 
"and  charge  it  to  my  share.  I  hope  the  ruffians  have  had 
lesson  enough  to  last  them.  Not  one  of  them  is  to  be  taken 
back,  if  he  should  go  down  upon  his  knees.  Remember  that !" 

Victor  smiled  at  her  energetic  manner. 

"  He  has  done  just  the  right  thing  all  the  way  through,"  she 
said,  decisively,  to  Anah  Hurst,  as  if  there  had  been  some 


With  Fate  against  Him.  291 

danger  of  the  meek  woman  controverting  the  statement.  "  He 
is  a  son  to  be  proud  of,  though  he  is  sadly  headstrong  and  wil 
ful  at  times.  Some  of  the  sturdy  old  Scotch  blood  runs  in  his 
veins." 

"It  was  hardly  worth  the  sensation  it  created,"  commented 
Victor,  when  his  mother  repeated  this  praise.  "I  do  not 
wonder  my  father  felt  called  upon  to  fight  the  demon  of  intem 
perance  in  the  manner  he  did.  It  is  the  bane  of  our  working- 
classes." 

Anah  smiled  in  a  pleased,  grateful  fashion.  There  had  been 
but  two  words  in  the  speech  for  her — "my  father."  As  she 
saw  these  two  men,  with  no  tie  of  blood  between  them,  being 
brought  so  near  together  again,  her  whole  soul  was  filled  with 
thankfulness. 

"I  think  I  misjudged  him  in  the  old  days,"  John  Hurst 
would  say,  softly,  to  his  wife.  "I  was  so  afraid  of  danger  for 
him.  I  wanted  to  do  the  best — to  lead  him  to  God — but — " 
tremulously — "he  is  finding  his  own  way.  It  was  too  high  a 
work  to  be  trusted  to  my  feeble  hands.  God  did  not  deem  me 
worthy." 

"Yet  God  sends  you  the  fruits,"  in  her  tender,  comforting 
manner. 

For  Victor  seldom  strayed  into  those  hard,  skeptical,  un 
reasoning  moods.  Life  was  so  much  grander  out  here  among 
the  mountains,  where  a  man  saw  the  works  of  God  daily. 
Adversity  may  be  a  good  teacher,  but  is  it  always  necessary  to 
suffer  in  order  to  be  able  to  enjoy?  Do  not  some  poor  souls 
hunger  and  thirst  until  all  appetite  is  gone?  And  when  at  last 
the  starved  life  blossoms  palely,  the  fountain  is  filled,  and  the 
stunted  trees  begin  to  bear  fruit,  the  zest  of  youth  and  hope  is 
over,  and  the  grave  only  looks  promising  in  its  awesome  rest. 

Prosperity,  and  the  friendship  of  such  a  man  as  Trewartha, 
was  rapidly  developing  the  best  and  richest  qualities  in  Victor 
Hurst's  nature.  ,|A  broad,  generous  life  does  more  toward 
making  noble  men  and  women  than  any  purely  ascetic  train- 


292  With  Fate  against  Him. 

ing  that  starves  one  faculty  to  develop  others.j/And  though 
many  brave  souls  have  come  up  through  much  tribulation, 
found  their  way  to  the  mountain-tops  over  thorny  paths,  indeed; 
there  is  still  in  minds,  not  strongly  tinctured  by  self-love  and 
pride,  an  awful  consciousness  of  loss,  a  dreary  remembrance 
of  the  time  when  a  kindly  hand  might  have  been  stretched  out 
and  was  withheld,  when  a  word  would  have  encouraged  and 
there  was  silence,  when  a  smile  would  have  mellowed  and 
goldened  the  chilly  atmosphere,  and  the  lips,  whose  giving 
would  not  have  impoverished,  were  still  and  cold. 

Affairs  at  the  quarry  went  on  quietly  enough.  True,  there 
was  a  rumor  of  Jarvis  having  been  seen  in  the  vicinity  ;  but  he 
troubled  none  of  the  workmen.  Victor  felt  quite  assured  that 
he  would  never  be  able  to  get  together  a  sufficient  number  of 
the  disaffected  to  make  another  assault,  after  the  first  had  been 
so  ignominiously  frustrated. 

The  new  men  were  prompt,  energetic,  and  orderly.  He 
always  spent  his  mornings  with  them  ;  but  much  of  the  after 
noon  was  devoted  to  his  own  dream,  in  which  business  had  no 
part  nor  lot  Trewartha  had  gone  carefully  over  the  three 
pieces  with  him,  criticising,  suggesting,  and  explaining  points 
in  which  Victor  was  groping  about  in  misty  darkness.  Of  the 
three,  the  Tantalus  pleased  Trewartha  best ;  for  he  read  in  it 
the  deeper  spiritual  thirst  of  the  soul  whose  conception  it  had 
been,  and  the  hours  of  patient  toil  that  under  so  many  disad 
vantages  had  still  fashioned  it  with  the  most  loving  care. 

One  afternoon  Victor  had  been  unusually  busy,  superintend 
ing  the  loading  of  stone.  A  side  switch  of  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  had  been  run  out  to  the  quarry,  and  the  cars  soon 
traversed  the  distance  from  thence  to  Taunton.  King  was  not 
yet  able  to  be  about,  and  on  such  days  as  these  every  one  lent 
a  hand.  At  last  the  derrick  ceased  its  creaking,  the  glim  old 
engine  uttered  its  hoarse  shriek  and  blew  out  its  volume  of 
dense  smoke,  winding  slowly  around  the  side  of  the  rocky 
ledge. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  293 

It  was  a  sultry  afternoon  late  in  August,  and  Victor  felt  too 
warm  and  too  tired  for  his  usual  recreation.  Tantalus  would 
utter  no  moan  there  in  his  darkness  and  silence. 

Yet  one  of  those  peculiar  subtile  moods  that  we  afterward 
call  presentiments  was  strong  upon  him,  and  seemed  to  lure 
him  thither  by  promise  of  coolness  and  restful  quiet.  His 
own  little  nook  had  become  a  place  of  delightful  refuge  to 
him  :  nature's  studio  indeed,  with  its  fragrant  airs,  its  ever 
changing  light  and  shade. 

To-day  the  leaves  scarcely  stirred.  The  pines  seemed 
drooping  and  dusty,  the  stray  spires  of  golden  rod  growing  in 
stunted  groups  were  pale  and  dingy,  and  the  tufts  of  balsam 
had  a  dried  and  wintry  look  already. 

Before  he  reached  the  place  he  heard  a  stir  and  crunching 
on  the  ground  as  of  a  footstep. 

"It  is  Trewartha,"  he  thought,  springing  forward. 

Then  a  crash  that  seemed  to  shiver  even  the  rock  to  atoms, 
so  distorted  was  it  to  his  surprised  ear. 

tie  took  the  scene  in  at  a  lightning  glance.  Jarvis  had 
rifled  his  box,  whose  treasures  were  better  than  buried  gold, 
and  at  a  blow  from  the  self-constituted  iconoclast,  Tantalus' 
dumb  longing  had  perished  in  fragments.  The  face  of  Sylvia 
gleamed  white,  imploring,  Victor  thought,  and  the  brawny 
arm,  with  its  huge  hammer,  was  about  to  scatter  ruin  a  second 
time,  when  Victor  sprang  forward  with  one  passionate,  well- 
directed  blow;  the  weapon  fell,  and  the  miscreant  rolled  over  in 
the  short,  worn  turf! 

It  seemed  to  Victor,  in  the  first  -moment  of  rage,  as  if  he 
could  have  beaten  him  to  a  jelly;  then  the  prostrate  figure 
appealed  curiously  to  him,  almost  disarming  in  its  helplessness 
the  bitter  resentment.  He  touched  it  with  his  foot,  for  the 
sight  of  the  bloated  purple  face  sickened  him. 

The  wretch  had  been  only  stunned.  He  rolled  his  bleared 
eyes  with  a  groan. 

For  weeks  Jarvis  had  been  going  from  bad  to  worse.     No 


294  With  Fate  against  Him. 

family  ties  restrained  him,  and  the  money  he  managed  to  pick 
up  in  odd  jobs  had  been  spent  for  rum,  since  any  clump  of 
woods  was  sufficient  couch  for  these  warm  nights. 

Victor  gathered  the  two  faces  out  of  the  ruins  :  the  McRae 
seeming  to  smile  grimly  and  exultant,  and  the  poor,  pale, 
beseeching  Sylvia — it  was  as  if  he  had  rescued  her  from 
some  great  peril,  and  his  soul  gave  an  answering,  vehement 
throb. 

"Wretch!"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  man  began  to  writhe, 
"how  dared  you  ?  Was  there  nothing  else,  but  you  must  steal 
like  a  thief  into  this  place  to  blast  and  destroy  ?" 

"I  finished  your  fine  work  for  you  !"  with  an  oath  and  a 
coarse  sneer;  "only  I  didn't  do  half  enough  !"  and  Jarvis 
raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  groaning  with  a  twinge  of  pain. 

A  dog  could  hardly  have  been  of  less  import  in  Victor's 
eyes,  and  yet  he  knew  the  man  was  an  immortal  being.  Was 
he  ?  and  the  old  skeptical  doubt  rushed  over  him.  What  did 
God  mean  to  do  with  these  vile,  miserable  souls  in  the  end  ? 
However,  his  passion  had  passed,  and  instead  of  vengeance 
there  was  only  loathing  in  his  heart.  So  he  looked  at  him  out 
of  clear,  masterly  eyes,  that  made  Jarvis  cower  beneath  the 
indignant  glance. 

"I  hate  you!"  he  said,  angrily.  "What  business  had  you 
to  come  here  and  lord  it  over  us,  because  yon  old  woman 
backed  you  ?  She  took  you  out  of  the  slough,  and  you  give 
yourself  fine  airs,  but  they  don't  go  down  with  me." 

Victor  smiled  scornfully  over  his  prostrate  foe. 

"I  have  not  lorded  it  over  any  one,"  he  returned.  "It 
has  been  an  even  bargain  on  both  sides — fair  work  and  fair 
wages.  If  you  do  not  choose  to  take  them,  stay  away  then. 
Indeed,  that  was  your  part  of  the  agreement" 

"I  agreed  to  nothing,"  sullenly. 

"I  believe  you  did  promise  to  keep  the  peace,  but  your 
word  is  like  yourself,  not  to  be  trusted. " 


With  Fate  against  Him.  295 

Victor  ran  briefly  over  the  case  in  his  mind.  To  hand  the 
man  over  to  the  authorities  would  be  dragging  himself  into 
notoriety  as  well,  a  thing  that  he  did  not  at  all  covet.  And 
when  he  caught  sight  of  the  bruised  face  and  swollen  eye,  and 
saw  the  twinges  of  pain  that  passed  over  the  features,  his  anger 
was  satisfied.  As  for  the  keener  grief,  nothing  dragged  out  of 
this  brutish  nature  could  compensate  for  that.  So  he  began 
to  gather  up  the  tools  and  his  remaining  precious  relics. 

Something  in  Victor  Hurst's  quiet,  superior  air  maddened 
the  low  instincts  of  the  prostrate  bully  more  than  the  bitterest 
speech  could  have  done.  The  refinement  and  manly  beauty 
roused  him,  as  the  contrast  always  does  an  ignorant,  grovelling 
nature,  that  is  fain  to  drag  every  human  soul  down  to  its  own 
low  estate. 

He  turned  once.  Jarvis  was  making  unsteady  attempts  to 
rise. 

"  I  give  you  fair  warning  ;"  and  the  voice  rang  out  sharply 
clear.  "Cross  my  path  again  and  I  will  see  if  there  is  no  law 
to  protect  a  man  from  a  bully  and  a  base,  dishonorable  coward. 
That  is  all." 

Jarvis  looked  after  him,  and  shook  his  fist  in  impotent  rage. 

"  I'll  be  even  with  you  yet,  cursed  upstart  that  you  are  !"  he 
muttered.  "Law!  There's  a  way  of  taking  the  law  in  my 
own  hands  that  you  mayn't  like  so  well,  especially  if  it 
should  chance  to  spoil  your  handsome  picture.'  What  a  hand 
the  man  has — like  a  sledge  hammer."  And  Jarvis  rubbed  him 
self  ruefully,  groaning  at  the  results  of  the  blow  and  the  fall. 

"Yes,  I'll  be  revenged  !"  trying  to  collect  his  scattered  senses. 
"Ill  dog  him  in  another  way.  We'll  see  who'll  win  this  game, 
my  hearty." 

Victor  Hurst,  walking  rapidly  away,  heard  none  of  the 
threats,  though  they  would  not  have  added  to  his  soreness  of 
heart. 

He  studied  the  marble  face  a  long  while  that  night  before  he 


296  With  Fate  against  Him. 

consigned  it  to  the  old  chest  that  held  the  remnant  of  his 
drawings.  The  other  attempts  had  long  ago  perished  in  the 
flames. 

Was  she  happy — the  Sylvia,  in  that  charming  nest  among  the 
mountains  ?  She  had  won  what  women  most  desired — smiling 
with  a  little  pain  and  scorn.  And  then  if — as  Trewartha  had 
more  than  half  suggested— this  weak,  characterless  Eustace 
Gilliat  had  been  her  girlish  fancy,  nothing  could  have  made 
any  difference,  nothing  1 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

JANET  McRAE  was  looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  old 
oak,  struck  by  lightning  many  years  ago,  but  not  killed. 
Every  summer  the  scattering  foliage  had  grown  smaller  and 
smaller.  This  year  one  twig,  high  up,  had  budded,  and 
showed  a  handful  of  leaves  that  withered  at  midsummer.  Now 
it  was  dead. 

She  was  thinking  of  herself.  It  seemed  of  late  that  she  had 
felt  hardly  so  strong  and  vigorous.  A  weak,  womanly  longing 
to  lay  down  the  power  in  her  tired  hands  and  rest  a  while, 
sometimes  seized  her.  And  though  she  would  have  confessed 
this  to  no  one,  she  had  not  made  the  headway  with  Victor 
Hurst  that  she  had  counted  upon.  Something  in  his  silent 
strength  baffled  her.  She  could  crowd  him  into  no  post  of 
honor.  She  could  clothe  him  with  no  authority.  The  present 
master  of  the  quarry,  filling  this  one  large  contract,  was  all  he 
would  be. 

Some  day  they  would  carry  her  slowly  over  to  the  little  plain 
dotted  with  white  gravestones.  Who,  beside  Ruth,  would 
reign  here  ?  Ruth,  who  was  slipping  out  of  the  stately  girl 
hood  in  which  she  had  enthroned  her,  coming  to  have  troubled 
lines  in  her  face,  and  grave,  questioning  looks  in  her  eyes. 

A  light  wagon  came  spinning  up  the  gravelled  road,  and 
she  recognized  the  figure  of  Victor  Hurst,  so  she  straightened 
herself  up  stifly,  smoothed  the  mane  of  white  hair,  and  settled 
her  mouth  to  its  grimmest  aspect. 

The  old  servant  announced  him  as  if  he  were  quite  a 
stranger. 

"Well,  lad,  "with  a  brief,  cold  nod,  "what's  wrong  at  the 

I?* 


298  With  Fate  against  Him. 

i 

quarry  again  ?  For  one  may  never  hope  to  see  you  of  a  morn 
ing  unless  there  is  trouble." 

"It  is  not  that,  however,"  bowing,  and  taking  her  hand 
with  a  peculiar  deference  that  made  her  always  think  of  the 
knightly  men  in  her  girlhood's  romances. 

She  would  give  him  no  farther  encouragement.  If  he  had 
come  upon  his  own  business,  he  must  open  the  way.  She  had 
heard  not  an  hour  ago  that  John  Hurst  was  as  well  as  usual,  so 
it  could  not  be  sickness. 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  alone,"  he  began,  rather  hurridly. 
"An  incident  occurred  to  me  on  Monday  that  has  perplexed 
me  not  a  little." 

"  You  have  taken  two  days  to  consider  it,  it  seems  ;"  rather 
tartly,  folding  and  refolding  the  paper  in  her  hand,  a  sign 
that  she  was  not  in  the  serenest  humor. 

"Yes,"  in  no  wise  disconcerted  by  her  words  or  manner. 
' '  And  not  being  able  to  solve  it,  I  come  to  you.  I  think  once 
you  said  there  was  a  doubt  whether  Sylvia  Redmond's  father 
was  really  dead?" 

"  And  what  have  you  to  do  with  Sylvia  Redmond's  father  ? 
It  can  be  nothing  to  you  whether  he  is  dead  or  alive." 

"It  is  something,  however,"  in  a  grave  tone. 

"  He  is  dead,  of  course.  The  only  sensible  thing  the  man 
ever  did  was  to  die  when  his  wife  tired  of  him,  which  certainly 
was  the  truth.  Such  vows  are  not  made  for  better,  for  worse, 
it  appears." 

Victor  looked  a  little  uncertain.  Janet  McRae  was  clearly 
not  in  an  amiable  mood. 

' '  On  Monday  I  found  a  poor  man  not  far  from  my  door, 
ill  and  very  much  exhausted.  Nearly  a  fortnight  before  he 
had  been  at  the  quarry,  asking  the  most  direct  route  to  St. 
Albans ;  and  recognizing  him,  I  gave  him  shelter.  The  next 
day  he  seemed  very  weakly,  but  yesterday  he  attempted  to  con 
tinue  his  journey.  He  was  taken  worse  only  a  few  rods  from 
the  house,  and  last  night  we  thought  him  dying," 


WitJi  Fate  against  Him.  299 

"What  right  have  you  to  be  receiving  tramps  in  that  fashion, 
Victor  Hurst?" 

"The  divine  right  of  every  one  to  shelter  the  sick  and 
homeless.  He  is  feeble,  and  wandering  in  his  mind,  so  I 
hardly  dared  believe — " 

"He  doesn't  claim  to  be  James  Redmond?'' 

Mrs.  McRae  started  as  if  she  had  received  the  shock  of  a 
galvanic  battery. 

"Yes — "  hesitatingly.  "It  almost  appears  as  if  he  must 
have  seen  Mrs.  Redmond  lately." 

"The  poor,  neglected  old  man  !  Perhaps  they  have  thrown 
him  off.  I  think  it  would  be  like  Margaret  Redmond,  now 
that  she  is  about  to  marry  her  daughter  so  grandly.  A  mis 
erable,  whining  sham  and  parasite  !  I  must  see  this  man." 

Her  voice  was  almost  shrill  in  its  earnestness. 

"Yes,  I  came  for  you.     I  thought  you  could  tell — " 

"I  should  know  James  Redmond.  A  weak,  maunder 
ing  fellow  ;  one  of  your  sickly  fine  gentlemen,  whose  very 
fingers  shrink  from  contact  with  anything  common  or  useful. 
\Yhy,  Jacob  out  there,  spading,  has  been  of  twice  the  service. 
Yes,  I  will  go.  I  am  glad  you  came,  though  you  roused  the 
old  lioness  in  no  gentle  mood,  I  assure  you." 

Victor  smiled.  Something  in  his  quiet  smile  always  dis 
armed  her. 

She  hurried  on  her  bonnet  and  mantle,  and  he  handed  her 
into  the  wagon. 

"Tell  me  the  particulars  of  this  strange  case,"  she  said,  as 
soon  as  they  were  started. 

Victor  related  them  more  at  length.  She  listened  with 
curious  avidity,  half-angry  lights  coming  and  going  in  her 
strong,  clear  eyes. 

"If  it  is  true  that  they  have  turned  him  away  to  die  among 
strangers,  they  shall  rue  it ;  mind  that,  Victor  Hurst !  I  could 
forgive  any  crime  more  readily." 

He  drove  rapidly,  and  they  soon  reached  the  little  cottage, 


300  With  Fate  against  Him. 

where  Hester  was  mopping  the  steps.  Janet  McRae  picked 
up  her  skirts  and  strode  along  impatiently. 

"I  carried  him  up-stairs,"  Victor  said,  "so  that  he  should 
not  disturb  my  father." 

She  followed  him  to  the  room,  so  clean,  so  cool,  and  peace 
ful  that  it  seemed  as  if  a  soul  might  go  straight  from  thence 
to  heaven.  Anah  Hurst  was  watching. 

You  could  see  at  a  glance  that  the  dying  man  had  been  a 
gentleman,  if  outward  signs  proved  anything.  The  high, 
scholarly  forehead  ;  the  fine,  pale  skin,  transparent  now ;  the 
aristocratic  contour  of  the  features ;  the  slender  fingers,  with 
their  long,  thin  nails.  And  yet  there  was  about  the  man  a 
curious  mental  weakness,  as  if,  when  the  rude  waves  of  life 
washed  against  him,  he  could  not  buffet  them  back.  A  help 
less,  useless,  wasted  soul,  always  weakly  striving,  always 
unsuccessful. 

Janet  McRae  studied  the  face  sharply.  As  if  he  felt  a  new 
presence,  he  opened  his  eyes  with  a  frightened,  entreating 
glance.  Victor  held  his  breath.  Did  he  want  Sylvia  Red 
mond  convicted  of  any  monstrous  sin  ? 

"James  Redmond  !"  in  her  clear,  breezy  voice.  "Look  at 
me  well — an  old  friend — do  you  know  me  ?" 

The  feeble  mind  seemed  to  flutter  in  the  weak  eyes  as  he 
made  an  effort,  guided  by  the  voice ;  for  he  listened  after  the 
sound  had  ceased. 

"  There  was  some  one — "  speaking  slowly  and  with  great 
difficulty — ' '  Cragness,  I  think.  If  Rachel-— it  is  Janet  McRae." 

She  turned  toward  Victor. 

"The  man  told  the  truth,  you  see." 

He  went  maundering  on  much  as  he  had  through  the  night. 
Now  and  then  he  cried  out  for  Sylvia,  or  begged  Margaret  to 
be  pitiful. 

' '  Only  let  me  see  her  once.  I  will  not  speak — I  will  not 
call  her  child.  My  darling  little  Sylvia.  Ah,  how  lovely  her 
golden  curls  used  to  be  1" 


With  Fate  against  Him.  301 

Janet  McRae  listened  to  the  feeble  plaints  for  some  time, 
considering  in  her  mind,  not  the  wisest  step,  but  the  one  that 
would  have  in  it  the  truest  justice.  Perhaps,  too,  her  straight 
forward  mind  was  a  little  warped  by  its  own  strength. 

"  I  sent  over  to  the  village  for  a  physician,"  Victor  said. 
"If  Trewartha— " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  It  is  too  late  for  human  skill,  still, 
that  was  proper."  Then  after  a  pause — "I  shall  go  to  St. 
Albans  myself.  Surely  Margaret  Redmond  and  her  daughter 
can  leave  their  gaieties  for  a  few  hours  and  take  their  rightful 
place.  No,  you  need  not  attend  me.  I  will  drive  your  horse 
home  and  send  him  back  by  one  of  the  servants." 

With  that  Janet  McRae  started.  Give  her  a  duty  to  any 
human  creature,  especially  if  there  was  a  chance  for  dispensing 
what  she  called  justice,  and  she  would  have  gone  to  the  world's 
end. 

Victor  went  down  to  the  quarry  afterward,  but  soon  returned, 
It  was  such  a  strange,  restless  day.  Sylvia,  whom  he  had  only 
seen  by  brief  glimpses  for  the  past  two  months,  coming  to  this 
house  again.  In  his  eyes  she  appeared,  verily  and  truly, 
Eustace  Gilliat's  wife.  Whether  there  was  anything  to  regret, 
whether  he  would  have  hindered  if  he  could,  were  unanswer 
able  questions.  Yet  it  seemed  as  if  something  new  and  strange 
stirred  within  his  heart,  an  emotion  which  he  could  not  analyze 
or  fathom. 

Janet  McRae  went  straight  about  her  business  as  any 
Nemesis.  The  ponies  trotted  with  long  graceful  sweeps,  but 
she  gave  them  no  encouraging  chirrup.  The  slopes  of  the 
undulating  mountain-side  began  to  hang  out  flaming  autumn 
signals  to  entrap  idle  wayfarers,  but  she  heeded  them  not.  In 
her  mind  she  was  preparing  Margaret  Redmond  a  scathing 
sermon. 

"Mrs.  Redmond  will  not  be  home  until  evening,"  the 
servant  said,  eyeing  the  majestic  old  woman  with  the  utmost 
astonishment.  "  But  Miss  Redmond — " 


302  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"Tell  her  that  Mrs.  McRae,  of  Cragness,  wishes  to  see 
her ;"  with  an  imperious  wave  of  the  hand. 

Sylvia  started  from  her  reverie.  She  had  not  been  included 
in  the  party,  for  two  very  good  reasons.  Eustace  had  voted  it 
a  bore  and  a  nuisance,  and  would  not  go  ;  so  she  made  the 
most  of  her  headache,  taking  her  toast  and  tea  in  her  own 
room.  Mrs.  Redmond  had  not  chosen  to  confess  that  she  did 
not  care  to  have  her  daughter  de  trap,  since  her  escort  was  to 
be  an  old  admirer  of  her  youth,  Mr.  Milnor. 

First  Sylvia  had  indulged  in  a  long  passionate  fit  of  weep 
ing.  She  was  so  very  miserable  in  these  days.  The  net 
closed  tighter  about  her  every  hour.  Every  wild  dream  of  free 
dom  had  been  baffled.  It  seemed  to  her  that  coldness,  pettish- 
ness,  and  absolute  ill-temper,  attracted  instead  of  repelling 
Eustace  Gilliat,  and  Mrs.  Gilliat  came  to  have  a  strange,  cling 
ing  love  for  her,  that  grew  stronger  day  by  day.  Neither 
mother  nor  son  dreamed  of  her  secret  dissatisfaction.  It 
appeared  as  if  they  had  both  been  stricken  by  some  fatal  blind 
ness. 

If  her  own  mother  suspected  it,  she  too  was  wary.  En 
trenched  in  her  own  complacency  and  pride,  Mrs.  Gilliat  was 
hardly  likely  to  suppose  this  girl,  who  had  now  and  then  been 
her  son's  playmate,  could  have  the  slightest  objection  to  a  mar 
riage  that  would  prove  so  fortunate  for  her  in  a  worldly  point  of 
view.  But  Mrs.  Redmond  found  Sylvia's  beliefs  and  opinions 
quite  heretical,  and  used  all  her  sophistries  to  conquer  them. 

"I  should  not  have  allowed  her  to  visit  those  foolish  old 
women,  the  Braisteds,  for  between  them  and  Mrs.  McRae  they 
have  filled  the  child's  head  full  of  nonsense." 

So  she  labored  zealously  to  eradicate  it,  refusing  all  requests 
for  even  the  briefest  visits  to  that  dangerous  vicinity,  and  at 
last  becoming  so  harassed  and  nervous  that  Sylvia's  soul  was 
moved  to  a  strange  pity. 

"It  was  some  losses,"  Mrs.  Redmond  confessed,  "I  can 
never  be  thankful  enough,  Sylvia,  that  you  are  to  marry  so  well. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  303 

It  was  so  thoughtful  in  Mrs.  Gilliat  to  propose  our  going  directly 
to  Rothermel.    I  wish  we  were  there  now." 

But  Sylvia  did  not.  Entering  those  gates  was  setting  the 
seal  of  slavery  upon  her  very  soul.  Could  no  one  see  her 
miser)'  ?  For  herself,  she  knew  that  she  was  growing  haggard 
with  the  weight  of  this  burden,  that  her  eyes  were  sunken  and 
heavy,  her  spirits  dull,  her  step  languid. 

After  her  tears  Sylvia  felt  stronger  calmer.  Could  she  bind  her 
soul  by  this  base  chain,  in  which  the  spirit  had  no  correspond 
ence  ;  bow  to  fetters  that  she  must  loathe  and  struggle  against 
to  the  death  ?  A  thousand  times  no,  said  revolting  nature. 

And  yet  she  knew  just  such  tempests,  just  such  resolves,  had 
been  succeeded  by  apathetical  endurance.  Would  it  be  so 
always,  to  the  bitter  end  ?  Would  God  open  no  door  of  escape, 
because  she  had  so  weakly  sold  her  woman's  birthright  ? 

She  had  requested  that  Mrs.  McRae  might  be  sent  up  to  her 
room.  But  when  she  saw  that  tall,  rigid  figure,  with  the  stern, 
unpitying  face,  her  heart  died  within  her,  and  a  new  terror 
shook  her  wrought  nerves  and  quivering  frame.  Timidly  she 
came  forward,  and  held  out  her  hand ;  but  something  in  both 
face  and  figure  touched  her  visitor  strangely.  Not  the  girlish 
Sylvia  of  three  months  ago,  or  of  any  time  that  she  had  ever 
known. 

' '  I  am  the  bearer  of  unwelcome  news,  doubtless,  Miss  Red 
mond,"  and  the  voice  was  chilling.  "  I  regret  very  much  that 
your  mother  is  away.  Your  father  is  at  Cragness,  dying." 

"My  father !"  She  looked  at  Mrs.  McRae  sharply,  to  see  if 
she  were  in  full  possession  of  her  senses.  "  My  father  !"  with 
an  incredulous  little  laugh  that  was  hard  and  strained.  "'  Why, 
you  know  he  died  long  ago  !" 

"  He  is  not  dead,"  with  a  kind  of  stiff,  hard  resentment. 
"That  was  the  story — on  what  grounds  I  do  not  know.  This 
very  morning  I  saw  him,  and  he  recognized  me.  Victor  Hurst 
found  him  by  the  road-side,  like  a  common  pauper,  and  gave 
him  shelter." 


304  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Uttering  this  in  her  keenest  tone,  she  glanced  Sylvia  over. 
The  soft  silk  morning  dress ;  the  delicate  laces,  rumpled  but 
still  beautiful  ;  the  diamond  shining  on  her  finger  ;  the  ear 
rings  and  brooch  of  pearl  that  suited  so  well  her  lovely  com 
plexion,  and  she  was  glad  she  had  stung  her  with  that  one 
word,  "pauper!" 

"Papa  1     Are  you  quite  sure ?"  in  a  slow,  dazed  way. 

"Am  I  sure?" 

The  ponderous  jaw  seemed  to  bite  off  the  word  in  indignation. 

Then  Sylvia  was  kneeling  at  her  feet,  crying  with  a  kind  of 
hysteric  passion — 

"Oh,  Mrs.  McRae,  take  me  to  him!  Poor  papa,  whom 
we  have  thought  dead  so  long,  so  long  !  He  used  to  love  me 
so  dearly,  and  call  me  his  little  Sylvia,  and  hold  me  on  his 
knee.-  Oh,  is  it  true  ?  You  are  not  mistaken  ?" 

The  eyes  were  wide  open  with  feverish  light,  and  the  dry 
lips  quivered  piteously. 

"Then  you  did  not  know — " 

''Know!  How  should  I?  Why  did  he  not  come  here/ 
Oh  papa,  poor,  friendless,  and  dying  !"  and  a  sob  choked  her 
voice. 

"Child,"  Janet  McRae  said,  softening,  "  get  yourself  ready, 
and  let  us  go.  We  have  not  a  moment  to  lose. " 

Sylvia  changed  her  dress,  and  smoothed  her  soft  shining  hair. 
Her  tern  pies  throbbed,  for  the  old  ache  had  returned,  and  every 
nerve  in  her  body  felt  strained  at  the  shock,  though  she  could 
hardly  credit  the  tidings.  But  to  go  away  under  Janet  McRae 's 
strong  wing  almost  promised  liberty.  Ah,  little  did  she  guess 
how  it  was  to  come. 

"  I  must  write  a  note  for  mamma.  I  think  they  will  bring 
her  over  immediately,  if  she  is  not  too  tired." 

Mrs.  McRae's  lips  curled.  Might  there  not  be  something 
besides  fatigue  ? 

Sylvia  was  ready  presently.  She  slipped  her  hot,  throbbing, 
ungloved  hand  within  the  one  so  cool  and  calm,  whose  life  had 


With  Fate  against  Him.  305 

been  like  a  broad,  placid  river.  An  infinite  pity  stole  into  the 
great  stern  heart  for  this  poor  little  girl,  with  all  her  hideously 
brilliant  prospects.  Oh,  how  could  a  mother  thus  sacrifice  her 
child,  wed  her  to  a  base,  unprincipled  profligate  ?  for  already 
there  had  been  more  than  one  wild  story  afloat  concerning 
Eustace  Gilliat.  But  it  was  the  way  of  the  world.  Truth,  un 
stained  honor,  and  manhood  counted  for  nothing  against  gold, 
and  having  that,  vice  was  glossed  over. 

When  Mrs.  McRae's  first  heat  of  prejudice  began  to  subside 
she  scanned  Sylvia's  face  more  narrowly — perhaps  to  find  the 
traces  of  vanity  and  self-love  that  could  feed  upon  this  glitter 
ing  prospect. 

The  smooth  outline  of  pink  and  pearly  flesh  was  worn  and 
sharpened  a  little  ;  the  careless  girl's  mouth,  with  its  brilliant 
smiles  and  small  petulancies,  had  been  shaped  into  something 
noble,  tender,  and  patient.  No  one  but  herself  would  ever 
know  the  pains  that  had  cultured  it  to  a  finer  heritage  than 
mere  physical  beauty,  a  positive  strength  quite  capable  of  ex 
erting  itself  in  any  great  strait,  yet  veiled  and  tempered  by  some 
sad  knowledge  that  had  dawned  too  soon  over  this  young  soul. 
And  in  the  drooping  eyes  there  was  strange  dreariness,  as  if 
she  had  sounded  the  hollowness  of  the  rocks  whereon  she  ex 
pected  to  place  her  feet,  and  found  that  some  black,  dangerous 
current  swept  through  the  interstices  beneath.  And  then  the 
great  sympathetic  heart  warmed  to  her,  as  it  had  used  to  the 
little  child  she  held  upon  her  knee. 

"They  shall  not  blight  her  whole  life,"  she  mused  inwardly. 
"  She  is  better  and  finer  than  I  thought.  Some  drops  of  gold 
have  mingled  with  the  weak  white  clay  her  parents  had  to 
give  her." 

"Tell  me  about — papa,"  Sylvia  said  presently,  in  a  broken 
voice. 

"There  is  not  much,  my  dear,"  and  the  tone  softened  un 
consciously.  "I  saw  him  for  a  mere  half-hour.  But  you 
shall  have  that  little." 


306  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"Victor  Hurst  was  very  kind,"  after  the  story  had  ended. 
"  Poor,  poor  papa  !  You  do  not  think  he  could  have  come  to 
St.  Albans?" 

Even  as  she  spoke  a  conscious  shiver  sped  through  her 
pulses.  She  had  learned  so  much  of  her  mother's  petty  weak 
ness,  false  pride,  and  numerous  little  subterfuges  that  were 
hardly  truth.  And  if  she  had  believed  it  would  interfere  with 
her  social  standing,  or  the  luxuries  she  deemed  so  essential 
to  her  well-being — ah,  she  was  her  mother  still,  and  it  was 
cruel  so  to  judge  her. 

"It  is  very  probable,  my  dear;"  in  a  dry,  hard  tone.  She 
could  not  excuse  Margaret  Redmond's  weak,  narrow,  pleasure- 
loving  nature. 

There  was  no  word  spoken  after  that.  The  ponies  were 
flecked  with  foam  long  ere  they  reached  the  quarry  and  saw  the 
old  watch-tower  of  Cragness  standing  on  its  hill,  with  the 
higher  one  behind  keeping  guard  in  its  purple-gray  afternoon 
haze. 

Mrs.  Hurst  came  out  to  meet  them.  She  took  Sylvia  in  her 
arms  and  kissed  the  tired  face.  Motherly  caresses  came  so 
natural  to  this  woman. 

"  You  must  rest  a  little,"  she  said,  in  her  cooing,  persuasive 
voice.  "  Here  is  a  plate  of  peaches  and  cream,  it  will  refresh 
you." 

She  took  off  Sylvia's  hat,  brought  a  napkin  wet  in  fresh 
lavender  water,  and  softly  wiped  the  heat  and  dust  from  the 
fevered  skin.  Here  was  a  cluster  of  Malmaison  roses  in  a  tall, 
slender  vase,  and  a  spray  or  two  of  heliotrope  diffusing  its 
pungent  odor.  If  Sylvia  dared  but  lay  her  head  on  this  tender 
bosom  and  cry  noiselessly  until  the  bitter  ache  in  her  heart 
tvas  washed  away ! 

"Now  take  me  to  him,  please." 

She  passed  Victor  in  the  hall.  At  the  door  Mrs.  Hurst  drew 
back. 

"  Come, "  Sylvia  entreated.      "  I  think  you  will  pity,  judge 


With  fate  against  Him.  307 

mercifully.  All  these  careless  years  I  have  thought  him  dead, 
you  know  ;"  as  if  to  justify  her  past  volatile  girlhood. 

She  went  up  to  the  bed  with  a  strange  awe.  She  had  never 
seen  anything  so  wan  and  weak,  so  pinched  and  sunken.  It 
was  as  if  you  might  read  a  story  of  genteel  hunger,  privation, 
and  loneliness  in  every  line  of  the  face.  The  lips  had  shrunken 
to  a  mere  thread. 

He  was  dozing  and  dreaming,  but  the  respirations  were  so 
short  and  feeble,  the  greenish  pallor  so  marked. 

"Let  me  see  her  only  once,  Margaret !"  the  gasping  voice 
murmured  faintly.  "My  little  Sylvia  !  If  I  could  have  one 
kiss  from  her  fresh  young  lips — I  might  give  her  up  to  this 
lover,  who  is  not  worthy  of  her,  Margaret,  not  worthy  !" 

"  Papa  !"  The  voice  was  curiously  steady,  for  in  that  brief 
instant  she  had  decided  her  fate  anew.  Did  God  demand  that 
she  should  wreck  her  own  soul  for  another's  bodily  comfort 
and  satisfaction  ? 

"  Papa,  I  am  here, — little  Sylvia  !" 

She  bowed  until  her  soft  curls  brushed  against  his  cheek. 
She  kissed  the  cold  lips,  took  the  wasted  hands  in  hers. 

A  quiver  ran  through  his  frame  with  the  power  and  agony 
of  a  mortal  spasm.  He  glanced  wildly  at  her  and  rolled  his 
head  feebly  upon  the  pillow. 

' '  No,  it  is  not  Sylvia.  Margaret,  you  deceive  me.  Sylvia 
has  gone  with  her  young  lover." 

"I  could  not  always  remain  little  as  when  I  sat  upon  your 
knee  and  pulled  your  soft  beard  about,  or  listened  to  stories  of 
beautiful  brave  queens,  of  kings  and  knights  and  crusaders. 
But  I  remember  the  long  evenings  at  cousin  Braisted's,  when 
mamma  would  be  ill  upon  the  sofa,  and  we  sat  and  studied 
the  fire,  built  castles  and  palaces  and  flame-pictures  such  as 
no  artist  ever  painted.  Look  at  me,  dear.  It  is  the  child 
grown  into  the  woman,  but  the  child's  heart  still  aches  for 
the  empty  years  out  of  which  you  have  fallen.  Papa  I 
Papa  !" 


308  With  Fate  against  Him. 

The  pathetic  cry,  the  voice  strong  and  sad  as  death  itself, 
shook  the  centre  of  his  unbelief.  The  eyes  stared  with 
spasmodic  brightness,  the  hands  clutched  at  her  garments. 

"And  through  all  these  years,  when  I  have  thought  of  you 
as  being  at  rest  in  heaven,  I  have  treasured  up  all  the  old 
remembrances,  the  walks  we  used  to  take,  the  poems  you 
taught  me,  the  books  we  read  together.  Ah,  why  did  you  not 
come  sooner  ?  Why  did  you  linger  desolate  and  forlorn,  when 
your  child's  heart  would  have  been  full  of  tender  love  for 
you." 

She  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow  and  sobbed  softly.  Ah,  it  was 
well  that  she  was  never  to  know  the  sufferings  of  those  years. 
The  long  illness  in  a  hospital,  from  whence  had  come  the 
rumor  of  his  death  ;  his  hesitation  to  announce  himself  when 
he  found  that  his  wife  had  been  received  into  her  father's  house; 
his  weak  ambition  to  do  something  that  would  give  him  the 
success  other  men  gained ;  the  struggles,  the  defeats,  the  drear 
nights  in  miserable  attics,  trying  to  extract  from  his  confused 
and  wandering  brain  brilliant  ideas  that  never  even  came  ;  days 
when  he  had  hovered  at  the  doors  and  gratings  of  restaurants 
for  a  little  warmth  and  savory  odor  to  appease  his  hunger.  A 
poor,  weak,  but  proud  and  honorable  gentleman,  pushed  to 
the  wall  by  the  stronger  ones.  Perhaps  a  true  woman's  love 
ir.ight  have  imparted  stamina,  encouraged  and  brightened  ;  but 
when  Margaret  Redmond  came  to  the  dregs  of  poverty,  she 
could  do  nothing  but  bemoan  her  own  sad  fate. 

He  touched  the  soft  cheek  with  his  finger,  that  shook  like  a 
stray  leaf  in  a  November  blast,  caught  feebly  at  the  floating 
curls,  and  then  smiled. 

"Yes,  it  is  Sylvia  !" 

She  uttered  a  wild  little  cry,  for  she  thought  him  dying. 
Mrs.  Hurst  came  and  bathed  the  pallid  face,  and  chafed  the 
cold  hands. 

"Don't  leave  me!"  he  entreated,  pitifully,  grasping  at  the 
air. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  309 

"No,  I  shall  not.     Dear,  dear  papa  !" 

Afterward  he  dozed  again.  The  room  began  to  be  shrouded 
in  twilight,  and  when  Mrs.  Hurst  brought  in  a  lamp  she  begged 
her  to  leave  it  on  the  hall-table.  She  sat  on  the  bed's  side  now, 
talking  sweet  and  slow,  and  listening  to  the  broken  sentences, 
kissing  the  wrinkled  cheek,  the  straggling  hair,  and  the  cold 
hands  that  began  to  grow  mysteriously  useless.  All  the  vehe 
ment  child's  love  came  back  to  her.  She  had  never  been 
ashamed  of  him  in  those  old  days,  for  there  was  no  pride  to 
be  stung  by  unsuccess.  And  now  that  he  was  dying,  the 
chivalrous  girl's  heart,  so  much  finer  and  nobler  than  any  of 
them  had  dreamed,  would  have  covered  sins  as  well  as  mistakes 
and  failures,  and  kissed  down  the  fluttering  eyelids  that  none 
might  see  their  secret. 

The  frail  life  floated  on  and  on.  Trewartha  came  and 
looked  at  him  and  whispered  softly — "At  midnight."  Janet 
McRae  wandered  up  and  down  as  if  held  by  some  curious 
spell ;  but  Anah  Hurst  was  strangly  sweet  and  tranquil. 

Sometime  after  the  night  had  set  in,  and  fitful  gusts  were 
blowing  blue-black  drifts  about  the  pale  moon-tinted  sky,  they 
heard  a  sound  of  furious  driving  that  stopped  at  the  door,  and 
then  a  rather  thick,  imperious  voice  demanding  "Miss  Red 
mond." 

Sylvia  shivered  with  mental  anguish  and  shame 

Presently  Victor  came  up-stairs. 

"  Your  mother  is  ill,"  he  said,  "and  in  great  alarm.  She 
has  sent  for  you. " 

Sylvia  Redmond  straightened  her  slight  figure,  though  her 
face  was  deathly  white.  But  her  tone  was  clear  and  untrem- 
bling. 

"Tell  Eustace  Gilliat  that  my  place  is  here,  at  my  father's 
side,  until  God  frees  me.  Even  if  it  were  otherwise,  I  could 
not  return  with  him  to-night" 

Victor  remarked  the  convulsive  shiver.  Ah,  how  could  she 
have  given  that  despicable  creature  any  power  over  her  ? 


310  With  Fate  against  Him. 

' '  But  your  mother  ?" 

"  Mamma  will  understand.  I  think  I  am  right ;"  with  slow 
hesitation,  glancing  into  his  eyes. 

"You  are  right."  He  could  not  help  but  utter  the  words, 
for  if  she  had  been  willing  he  must  have  kept  her  from  the 
questionable  journey. 

"Ask  him  to  take  my  love  and  sympathy  to  mamma.  She 
has  kind  friends,  and  he  needs  me." 

Anah  Hurst  had  been  standing  ghostly  white  since  the  name 
dropped  from  her  son's  lips.  Now  she  came  close  to  Sylvia, 
and  said  in  a  faint,  hollow  tone — 

"There  was  a  Kirke  Gilliat  I  once  heard  of;"  her  hand 
going  over  her  eyes  with  the  long  unused  gesture. 

"It  is  his  son  ;"  with  a  shiver. 

"  You  are  to  marry  him — " 

"Oh,  can  I?"  crowding  down. a  gasping,  hysterical  breath. 
"Mrs.  Gilliat  is  mamma's  friend  :  they  will  both  be  kind  to 
her  in  this  trouble,  I  think.  But  it  might  be  a  disgrace  in 
their  eyes.  They  are  very  proud. " 

Anah  kissed  her  with  sudden  fervor,  then  went  to  the  win 
dow.  The  voices  below  made  her  heart  stand  still  with  fear. 
Was  it  Kirke  Gilliat's  son  uttering  those  angry  oaths  to  her 
child  ? 

Presently  the  horses  moved  on,  and  the  clump  of  maples 
between  broke  the  sound.  The  old  clock  in  the  corner  be 
gan  to  strike  slowly,  but  before  it  had  told  off  its  count  of 
nine,  a  sharp,  ringing  thrill  pierced  the  air,  stunning  them  all 
with  mortal  terror. 

After  that  a  long,  awesome  silence.  Five  minutes,  perhaps, 
elapsed  before  Victor  Hurst  entered  ;  but  to  them  it  appeared 
half  a  lifetime.  His  face  was  flushed  and  the  lips  firmly  set ; 
but  he  was  unharmed.  That  brought  them  a  great  feeling  of 
relief,  yet  no  one  asked  a  question. 

"The  hand  of  Kirke  Gilliat's  son  raised  against  him," 
Anah  Hurst  thought,  with  a  sickening  shiver. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  quarrel  had  been  bitter  enough  on  the  one  side. 
Eustace  Gilliat  affected  to  believe  the  tidings  that  called 
Sylvia  thither,  a  mere  ruse.  He  had  come  in  after  a  day's 
hunting  dissipation,  rather  the  worse  for  the  champagne  and 
brandy  that  had  washed  down  the  dinner.  Mrs.  Redmond, 
in  hysterics,  making  strange  of  the  intelligence,  bewailing, 
calling  upon  Sylvia,  and  denouncing  Mrs.  McRae,  fired  the 
weak  and  over-heated  brain  into  ill-judged  championship. 
More  than  all,  Sylvia  was  among  the  Hursts. 

If  he  had  felt  certain  of  her  regard  for  him,  he  would  doubt 
less  have  waited  until  morning.  But  his  jealous  passion,  his 
rights  that  had  been  so  disregarded,  and  grudging  hatred  for 
the  old  blow,  was  strong  upon  him.  And  was  he  not  shortly 
to  be  Sylvia's  master  ?  As  well  give  her  a  lesson  in  obedience 
and  consideration  now. 

So  he  summoned  Jules,  who  would  fain  have  dissuaded 
him  ;  but  in  such  a  mood  as  this,  Eustace  Gilliat  was  incapa 
ble  of  reasoning.  Mrs.  Gilliat  was  too  much  occupied  with 
her  friend  to  understand  the  true  import  of  her  son's  resolve. 

Victor  went  out  to  the  road  to  learn  who  these  late  visitors 
might  be,  and  was  met  by  a  sudden  and  peremptory  demand 
for  Miss  Redmond. 

"Her  father  is  dying,"  he  answered.  "If  it  is  necessary, 
Mrs.  McRae  will  bring  her  back  in  the  morning  ;  but  she 
would  hardly  go  to-night." 

Eustace  Gilliat  answered  this  by  an  offensive  assumption  of 
authority  that  brought  Victor's  blood  to  a  white  heat.  And  as 
he  leaned  out  of  the  carriage,  his  breath  still  hot  with  the 


312  With  Fate  against  Him. 

liquor  rioting  in  his  brain,  Victor  could  have  crushed  him  in 
the  dust  like  any  unclean  thing.  This  man  to  marry  Sylvia 
Redmond !  Why,  he  was  a  hundred  times  more  loathsome 
and  disgusting  than  the  boy  at  Bohmerwald. 

"She  will  not  go,"  he  said,  firmly.  "Her  friends  would 
be  wild  to  allow  it.  Why,  you  cannot  reach  St.  Albans  before 
midnight." 

' '  Sylvia  Redmond  is  answerable  to  no  one  save  her  mother 
and  myself.  Will  you  take  my  message,  or  shall  I  ?" 

Victor  understood  which  way  would  be  the  best,  and  he 
could  almost  hear  Sylvia's  answer  before  she  had  uttered  it 
He  brought  back  the  refusal  courteously. 

Eustace  Gilliat  was  fearfully  enraged.  In  another  moment 
he  would  have  leaped  from  the  carriage.  Victor  held  him  in 
with  a  strong  arm. 

"Listen,"  he  began  calmly.  "Yonder  house  is  mine; 
and  you  shall  not  step  across  its  threshold  to-night.  I  should 
as  soon  think  of  thrusting  Sylvia  Redmond  to  the  edge  of 
some  dangerous  precipice  as  to  hand  her  over  to  your  care. 
Her  father  is  dying — -no  imposter,  though  you  may  choose  to 
think  so.  Go  peaceably  away,  and  to-morrow  assert  your 
authority,  if  you  have  any." 

As  he  spoke  he  caught  the  leader's  rein  and  ran  down  the 
road  like  a  flash.  Neither  Sylvia's  ears  nor  his  mother's 
should  be  wounded  by  this  drunken  braggadocio. 

' '  Now, "  he  continued,  ' '  go  your  way.  If  you  have  any  sense, 
any  natural  feeling,  you  must  know  that  a  death-bed  of  all 
other  places  should  be  held  sacred  from  intrusion." 

There  was  a  rift  of  moonlight  creeping  through  the  cloud's 
ragged  edge.  Eustace  Gilliat  snatched  the  whip  from  its  socket, 
but  before  he  could  strike,  a  strong  hand  had  wrenched  the 
weapon  from  him,  and  a  stinging  laugh  smote  his  ear. 

"It  is  useless  to  try-  the  strength  of  arm  or  brain  with  me, 
Eustace  Gilliat,  as  you  might  have  known,"  he  said,  scornfully. 
"Go  your  way  in  peace." 


With  Fate  against  Him.  313 

For  an  instant  the  man,  in  his  helpless,  impotent  wrath,  knew 
not  what  to  do. 

"You  love  her"  he  hissed.  "Ah,  I  have  guessed  that 
secret  between  you,  and  why  she  came  at  a  word,  on  this  weak 
excuse.  Filial  love  !  ha  !  ha  !  But  I  want  to  tell  you  that 
she  shall  be  my  wife  in  the  face  of  man  or  devil.  If  she  hated 
me,  I  should  still  marry  her.  If  her  father  is  proven  a  vagabond 
or  criminal,  that  will  not  stand  in  my  way.  I  have  not  for 
gotten  that  old  night,  and  the  blow  you  gave  me.  I  can  strike 
you  back  now.  If  it  were  ten  years  instead  of  two,  I  should 
remember  it,  and  be  revenged." 

Something  seemed  to  stifle  heart  and  brain.  Victor  caught 
at  a  breath  of  wandering  air,  as  if  it  had  been  his  salvation. 
Sylvia  Redmond  this  man's  wife  !  Her  pure,  sweet  girlhood 
mated  to  this  base,  vile,  unclean  being  !  Was  this  the  high 
station  that  he  had  once  almost  envied  ? 

"  Ah,  that  stings  you,  does  it  ?"  thus  translating  his  silence. 
"I  shall  bring  down  her  haughty  pride  as  well ;  she  wears  a 
diamond  now,  my  fetter,  and  I  shall  load  her  with  others,  that 
may  glitter  in  the  world's  sight,  but  be  the  chain  of  a  galley- 
slave  to  her,  if  she  ventures  to  rebel.  And  if  you  dare  to  cross 
her  path — " 

"I  have  no  desire,"  in  a  strong,  cold  voice.  "  Leave  her 
to-night  in  peace  ;  it  is  all  I  ask." 

He  turned  the  horse  again,  and  nodded  to  the  driver.  Jules 
felt  that  his  master's  anger  rendered  him  indiscreet,  and  that 
it  would  be  wiser  to  put  an  end  to  the  parleying. 

Victor  made  a  sudden  plunge  in  the  group  of  trees  as  the 
horses  started.  The  darkness  seemed  to  drop  at  that  moment, 
as  if  the  whole  heavens  were  obscured.  And  then  a  sound  that 
caused  him  to  shiver,  to  start  and  see  if  he  were  unharmed. 

"A  coward's  revenge,"  he  muttered,  but  he  entered  the  house 
with  a  startled  face.  In  the  midst  of  the  awesome  silence  the 
bell  in  his  father's  room  summoned  assistance  or  favor  from 
some  one,  and  he  left  them  without  an  explanation. 

14 


314  With  Fate  against  Him. 

At  midnight,  as  Trewartha  had  said,  the  poor  stranded  soul 
was  loosed  from  the  shoals  among  which  it  had  floated,  and 
passed  out  to  the  broad  ocean,  its  futile  efforts  ended.  Very 
peacefully,  as  if  at  rest,  and  glad  to  lay  down  the  burden.  On 
the  other  side,  God  took  it  into  account,  knowing  the  weakness 
and  frustrated  hopes  better  than  any  human  eye. 

Mrs.  McRae  almost  carried  the  unresisting  Sylvia  down 
stairs  in  her  arms,  and  laid  her  on  the  sofa.  The  wide  open 
eyes  were  tearless,  and  all  the  bright  color  had  faded  from  the 
lips.  It  was  partly  terror,  for  the  mystery  and  fearful  power 
of  death,  witnessed  for  the  first  time,  chills  young  blood.  But 
something  deeper  still  was  stirring  in  her  soul.  Somewhere 
this  poor,  pale  life  had  gone  astray.  The  moment  when  it  lost 
the  clue,  when  it  ceased  to  be  what  God  had  meant,  and  went 
drifting  round  in  vague,  purposeless  confusion,  its  downfall 
began.  She  could  see  now  where  hers  would  be  wrecked.  As 
Mrs.  Gilliat's  nurse  and  companion,  there  might  be  use  and 
work  for  her  ;  but  as  Eustace  Gilliat's  wife — 

She  drew  her  breath  hard  and  quick,  raising  her  head. 

"What  is  it,  child?     Are  you  never  going  to  sleep?" 

The  tone  was  not  untender.  She  slipped  to  the  floor  and 
laid  her  head  in  Mrs.  McRae's  lap. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  McRae,"  she  said  ;  "  if  any  one  took  a  weak 
step  unwittingly,  or  was  wrongly  persuaded  in  any  vital  matter, 
and  came  to  know  the  truth  afterward,  would  it  not  be  right  for 
— this  person  to  go  back,  no  matter  what  might  be  the  pain  or 
shame  ?" 

"  I  think  it  would,"  slowly,  as  if  she  were  considering. 

"  It  is  about  my  engagement.  I  would  like  to  tell  you.  I 
have  had  no — no — friend  ;"  stumbling  a  little. 

"Yes,  child,"  tenderly  smoothing  the  fair  cheek. 

It  was  a  comfort  to  go  over  the  story,  to  have  her  doubts 
solved,  and  her  brooding  fears  dispelled. 

"For  now  that  I  have  seen  the  end  of  mamma's  ill-judged 
marriage,  I  cannot  go  on.  She  must  have  loved  papa  in  the 


With  Fate  against  Him.  3 1 5 

beginning ;  and  though  I  used  to  have  a  childish  admiration 
for  Eustace  Gilliat,  it  was  because  I  fancied  he  would  make  a 
gracious  gentleman,  like  his  father.  He  never  will  be. " 

"No.  Virtues  are  not  always  hereditary,  my  dear,  and 
vices  are  often  frightfully  exaggerated.  The  follies  cf  the 
whole  race  seem  to  culminate  in  him,  for  I  dare  say  there  were 
some  questionable  ancestors.  If  we  could  come  down  in  a 
straight  line  of  virtue,  we  should  be  as  gods  ;"  with  a  short,  grim 
laugh.  ' '  I  suppose  the  Master  of  all  means  that  we  shall  have 
some  fighting  to  do." 

"  And  I  must  fight  hard  for  freedom.  It  was  my  weakness 
that  led  me  astray." 

Mrs.  Collins,  a  superannuated  nurse,  had  come  over  at 
Hester's  bidding,  and  the  two  women  were  busy  up-stairs. 
Victor  had  gone  quietly  to  his  room,  exchanging  no  word  with 
any  one.  The  thought  of  Sylvia's  future  rent  his  soul.  There 
seemed  to  flash  into  existence  another  part  of  his  being,  hitherto 
unshared,  unknown.  A  deep,  awful  power,  magnetized  by 
its  own  capacity  for  joy  or  bliss,  and  held  in  breathless  thrall 
as  if  awaiting  its  hour  of  deliverance.  His  intuitions  became 
refined,  penetrating,  able  to  translate  this  faint  throb  of  mystery, 
and  yet  some  shadow  with  its  cold  hand  held  him  back.  For 
if  she  knew  all,  what  then  ?  He  was  not  like  other  men,  with 
this  black  fate  at  his  back. 

No  one  slept  through  the  night.  The  morning  dawned  dull 
and  chilling,  with  a  fine  mist  in  the  air.  Breakfast  was  late, 
and  just  after  they  had  been  summoned,  Trewartha  walked  in 
unceremoniously,  his  hair  tumbled,  his  face  flushed  with  some 
under-current  of  perplexity. 

After  a  word  to  the  others  he  went  over  to  the  window  and 
spoke  in  a  low  tone  to  Victor. 

"  Gilliat  was  here  last  night.     You  and  he  had  a  quarrel  ?" 

"  He  had  been  drinking,  and  was  violent,  as  well  as  abusive. 
Only  a  madman  would  have  trusted  Sylvia  with  him,  had  she 
been  willing  to  go.  She  refused,  and  I  would  not  allow  him 


316  With  Fate  against  Him. 

to  enter  the  house.     His  man  was  the  more  sensible  of  the 
two. " 

"And  then—?" 

Trewartha  transfixed  him  with  the  strange  meaning  of  his 
eye. 

Victor  gave  a  nervous,  embarrassed  laugh. 

' '  I  am  alive,  you  see,  so  let  it  go, "  he  answered. 

"But  it  cannot,"  in  a  tone  of  irritation.  "I  may  as  well 
tell  you — if  you  do  not  know — Eustace  Gilliat  was  shot  last 
night,  just  as  he  parted  from  you,  and  died  at  daylight  this 
morning." 

"  My  God  !"  and  Victor  clasped  his  hand  to  his  forehead. 

The  three  women  heard  this,  and  joined  them  in  breathless 
terror. 

"I  am  an  idiot,"  declared  Trewartha.  "Explain  this 
mystery,  some  of  you.  You  must  have  heard  the  report." 

Mrs.  Hurst  came  close  to  her  son,  and  took  his  hand  as  if 
she  feared  to  see  the  stain. 

"  Eustace  Gilliat !"  she  repeated,  in  a  strange,  sinking  voice, 
the  lips  flickering  as  if  some  torture  had  been  suddenly  applied 
that  scorched  the  fine  nerves. 

Looking  into  her  wild  eyes  he  read  her  secret. 

"  It  is  clean  ;"  hoarsely,  grasping  her  fingers  within  his,  until 
she  could  have  cried  with  the  pain.  "  Clean  !"  holding  it  up. 
"  Before  God,  and  you  all,  I  am  guiltless  of  any  man's  blood." 
But  he  knew  in  his  soul  that  it  was  a  brother's. 

"Dead!  Eustace  Gilliat !"   Sylvia  had  received  her  freedom. 

"  Had  you  known  him  before  ?   Was  there  an  old  quarrel  ?" 

"I  met  him  more  than  two  years  ago.  There  was  a  harvest 
festival  at  a  Bohemian  settlement  below  Weareham.  The 
quarrel  was  not  much.  He  insulted  a  girl,  held  her  captive, 
and  I  rescued  her  with  a  blow.  That  was  all." 

"  Did  you  hear  the  report  of  the  pistol  ?  Surely  you  must 
have  ?" 

The  question  was  addressed  to  all,  but  no  one  replied. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  317 

Then  Janet  McRae  stepped  forward.  "If  we  could  save 
Victor  Hurst's  life  by  a  lie,"  she  said,  in  her  clear  strong  tone, 
"he  would  hardly  accept.  We  all  heard.  He  did  not  enter 
the  house  until  some  minutes  afterward." 

All  this  time  she  was  studying  him  with  an  awful,  undefined 
fear.  He  had  hot  blood  in  his  veins,  and  a  fiery  temper. 

"  I  can't  tell,"  he  said,  with  a  perplexed  air.  "  I  thought 
it  was  meant  for  me,  and  that  he  had  fired.  But  good  heavens  ! 
To  die  like  the  beasts  of  the  field  !" 

"A  reptile  rather,  who  leaves  his  venom  behind.  They,  or 
rather  his  man,  drove  swiftly  to  Greaves,  it  seems.  An  artery 
had  been  severed  and  internal  hemorrhage  set  in.  They  came 
for  me  at  once,  though  nothing  could  have  saved  him.  But 
he  lived  to  make  a  deposition  and  sign  it ;  and  his  man  attests 
every  word.  There  was  a  grudging  hate  in  him.  I  think 
he  hardly  felt  the  pain  of  dying,  because  he  could  revenge 
himself.  And  now  what  is  to  be  done  ?" 

In  that  moment  of  pain  and  terror  Anah  Hurst  would  have 
counselled  flight.  If  they  two  were  only  free  !  Ah,  why  had 
she  induced  him  to  come  to  Cragness  ? 

"Is  there  a  pistol  in  the  house?" 

"I  never  owned  one,"  Victor  replied. 

"There  is  some  strange  mystery  at  the  bottom  of  all  this. 
The  man,  Jules  Duconge,  swears  they  were  both  unarmed.  A 
keen,  daring  enemy  must  have  done  it.  If  you  could  prove — " 

"  I  can  prove  nothing,"  impatiently.  "I  was  near  there, 
almost  within  range.  The  shot  was  fired  after  I  had  turned. 
But  I  think  you  must  all  believe  me  innocent  of  so  terrible  a 
crime  ;"  and  a  shiver  ran  through  his  frame. 

"There  will  be  a  warrant  out  presently.  If  I  have  blun 
dered  in  my  telling,  forgive.  I  could  not  bear  the  suspense, 
and  it  would  not  be  pleasant  tidings  from  a  stranger.  An 
inquest,  I  suppose,  will  he  held  immediately." 

It  seemed  to  Victor  Hursf  that  some  unseen  blow  had 
stunned  him  utterly.  He  did  not  dare  glance  at  his  mother 


3 1 8  With  Fate  against  Him. 

again,  crushed  and  speechless  by  the  weight  of  this  misery. 
And  even  now  it  appeared  to  him  as  if  the  shot  must  have 
been  given  from  the  carriage,  though  human  passion  could 
hardly  go  that  far  for  revenge. 

A  strange  morning,  with  the  dead  man  in  the  house,  and 
this  nameless  terror  hanging  over  their  heads.  Sylvia  forgot 
her  own  grief,  her  sense  of  freedom,  even  her  mother. 

Once  she  came  over  to  Victor. 

"You  remembered  the  night  at  Bohmerwald,"  she  said, 
with  a  poignant  pain  in  her  voice;  "and  him"  tremulously. 
"You  forgot  only  me." 

"No,"  looking  past  her,  yet  with  some  peculiar  second 
sight  reading  the  droop  of  the  eyes  and  the  quiver  of  the  lips, 
and  hearing  Eustace  Gilliat's  words  again.  "But  I  am  glad 
now  that  you  never  spoke.  It  could  have  made  no  difference." 

"The  quarrel  was  about  me.  I  know  he  was  miserably 
jealous.  If  I  should  have  cost  you  something  dearer  than 
life—" 

"No,  no.  There  is  some  fearful  mistake.  Or,  is  it  all 
blind  chance  for  a  man  to  fight  against  ?  Why  did  fate  bring 
us  all  together  then,  to  work  out  this  awful  tragedy  at  the  last  ?" 

There  was  an  expression  in  her  face  that  arrested  his  attention. 
A  burden  deeper  than  present  pain,  a  haunting  sense  of  lose 
and  despair.  Was  it  for  Eustace  Gilliat  ? 

"Forgive  me."  His  tone  was  very  low.  "I  forgot  your 
anguish.  Good  God  !  Why  can  we  not  all  go  back  ?" 

"  You  mistake  me,"  she  returned,  falteringly.  "  Last  night 
I  resolved,  come  what  would,  to  break  the  bond  between  my 
self  and  Eustace  Gilliat.  It  was — forced  upon  me — and  I 
proved  too  weak  for  the  higher  path  of  duty.  But  I  think  I 
should  have  found  it  at  last." 

Her  eyes  were  downcast,  her  face  very  pale,  and  her  whole 
figure  trembling.  A  great  throb  of  relief  sped  through 
his  veins.  This  could  not  bring  them  any  nearer  to 
gether,  but  it  redeemed  her  in  his  estimation  to  know  that 


With  Fate  against  Him.  319 

she  could  not  love  that  shallow,  selfish  man,  and  would  have 
been  in  the  end  too  true  to  holiest  womanhood  to  give  her 
self  for  his  gold,  or  his  proud  lineage. 

"  Do  not  fear  for  me." 

But  even  as  he  spoke,  a  tramp  of  feet  and  an  authoritative 
knock  were  heard.  How  could  they  see  him  taken  away  like 
a  common  criminal  ?  Sylvia  hid  her  face  and  sobbed,  though 
her  eyes  were  tearless. 

"  I  am  innocent,  let  that  comfort  you, "  he  said,  preparing 
to  follow. 

As  if  links  must  multiply,  a  pistol  was  found  not  far 
from  the  spot,  and  carried  off  in  triumph.  Yet  Trewartha's 
strong  courage  cheered  them  all.  He  was  to  make  the  expla 
nation  to  John  Hurst. 

"  It  will  not  do  to  tell  him  the  truth,"  he  said  ;  so  he  laid 
stress  upon  important  business. 

"But  he  did  not  even  look  in  to  say  good-bye,"  was  the 
grieved  response. 

"  The  summons  was  sudden  and  imperative.  I  will  be  your 
son  meanwhile.  Command  me,"  and  he  smiled  with  a  poor 
attempt  at  his  usual  geniality. 

Anah  Hurst  was  stunned.  That  God  would  right  the  terrible 
mistake  she  could  scarcely  doubt.  Victor  would  soon  return, 
cleared  of  the  foul  imputation.  But  that  he  should  have  been 
brought  face  to  face  with  Eustace  Gilliat ! 

She  dragged  herself  up-stairs,  where  Sylvia  was  lying  tearless 
and  sleepless. 

"Oh,  don't  hate  me,"  the  poor  girl  moaned,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands.  "That  I  should  have  brought  all  this 
trouble  upon  you,  when  you  had  already  been  so  kind  to — 
poor  papa  !"  the  pale  lips  quivering  as  she  spoke. 

"Child, "in  a  calm,  peculiar  manner,  "I  think  it  is  some 
subtle  fate  working  itself  out.  The  sins  of  the  fathers  are  to 
be  visited  upon  the  children  ;  but  it  seems  cruel  when  the  poor 
children  are  innocent.  It  is  a  great,  unfathomable  mystery." 


320  With  Fate  against  Him. 

11  He  is  guiltless,"  Sylvia  cried,  sharply. 

"Yes.     Well,  I  am  his  mother." 

"Does  any  one  doubt  it?"  thinking  only  of  the  crime,  her 
wild,  feverish  eyes  searching  the  cold,  pale  face. 

"But  it  is  not  that  I  came  to  ask  you,"  pressing  her  hand 
against  her  forehead  with  a  shiver,  as  if  there  was  some  strong 
repulsion  in  the  subject.  "You  have  known  them,'"  [she  could 
not  utter  the  name,]  "a  long  while?" 

"  Yes.     Mamma  and  "Mrs.  Gilliat  are  old  friends." 

"Tell  me  about  them  !" 

She  turned  her  face  away  and  shaded  her  eyes,  but  her 
respiration  was  slow  and  labored. 

"About— Rothermel  ?" 

"The  three — the  household." 

So  Sylvia  began.  The  past  years  had  a  charm  for  her,  which 
no  present,  however  terrible,  could  quite  obliterate.  The 
house  lay  always  in  her  mind  as  a  stately  and  beautiful  picture, 
with  its  background  of  knights  and  heroes  and  handsome  wo 
men.  Mrs.  Gilliat,  with  all  her  haughtiness  and  indifference, 
had  petted  Sylvia,  and  endeared  herself  in  many  ways  to  the 
girlish  heart. 

"  And— the  son  ?" 

The  child  shuddered. 

"You  were  to  marry  him.  It  is  strange,  but  I  never  heard 
of  it  until  last  night.  I  have  lived  so  quietly." 

Victor  had  not  spoken  of  it  then.  Of  course,  it  could  make 
no  difference  to  him  whom  she  married. 

"Yes,  I  was  to  marry  him  ;  though,  I  think,  I  never  could 
have  done  it,"  in  a  voice  freighted  with  the  strength  of  desper 
ation.  ' '  I  liked  him  as  a  boy,  that  is — why,  I  was  nothing  but 
a  child,  you  know ;  a  weak,  vain,  silly  child,  thinking  myself 
so  wise,  yet  fearfully  ignorant.  And  as  no  one  else  cared  for 
me, — as  I  could  not  tell  then  how  much  a  woman's  soul  might 
be  to  her  own  very  self,  1  let  them  all  persuade  me  into  it.  Do 
not  believe  that  it  was  for  the  wealth  or  station — why — "  hysteric- 


With  Fate  against  Him.  321 

ally- — "yesterday,  I  fancied  I  could  be  happy  with  papa  alone, 
if  I  had  to  work  or  beg  for  the  bread  we  ate.  I  began  to  learn, 
then,  the  full  strength  of  a  woman's  love,  and  what  a  clean, 
pure  life  would  be  to  her.  He  was  small  of  soul,  narrow, 
scoffing  at  virtue  and  generous  impulses ;  and  when  I  came 
to  realize  his  vices — no,  I  could  never  have  gone  on — even  for 
his  mother's  sake  ;"  with  an  irrepressible  shiver. 

Anah  Hurst  reached  over  and  took  the  child  in  her  arms. 
The  two  seemed  to  be  brought  together  by  common  suffering. 
The  father's  hand  had  stabbed  her,  and  the  son's  might  have 
wrought  a  still  deeper  desolation  in  Sylvia's  life. 

She  had  it  all  very  clearly  before  her  now.  By  some  turn 
of  fate  she  had  been  kept  in  ignorance  of  their  near  vicinity, 
and  perhaps  it  was  well,  seeing  that  she  was  bound  hand  and 
foot  and  could  not  stir  without  telling  her  story.  But  why  had 
God  tangled  all  their  lives  together  to  culminate  in  this  fearful 
tragedy  ?  blood  arrayed  against  blood.  She  remembered  the 
passionate  hatred  Victor  had  expressed  against  Kirke  Gilliat  on 
the  night  when  he  first  heard  the  story.  But  now  he  had  grown 
calmer  and  clearer  of  brain. 

A  strange,  awesome  day  indeed  !  Doctor  Trewartha  went 
to  St.  Albans  and  brought  from  thence  a  report.  Mrs.  Red 
mond  was  really  ill  and  bitterly  incensed  against  her  child. 
Mrs.  Gilliat  had  been  in  strong  convulsions  since  the  sad 
tidings,  and  lay  at  the  point  of  death. 

"There  must  be  some  arrangements  made  for  the  funeral," 
Mrs.  McRae  said,  taking  Trewartha  into  the  deserted  sitting- 
room.  "Rachel  Braisted  has  been  over,  and  proposes  that 
the  body  shall  be  brought  there.  They  are  very  kind  and 
sympathizing.  I  think  they  feel  that  Margaret  Redmond  hardly 
did  her  duty  by  her  husband." 

"She  must  have  believed  him  dead,  at  first." 

"So  far  as  I  can  put  his  incoherent  story  together,  he  never 
made  his  existence  known  until  latterly.  If  he  went  to  St. 

Albans,  I  can  fancy  her  dread  and  mortification.     Perhaps  she 

1,1* 


,22  IV iih  Fate  against  Him. 


felt  that  he  had  forfeited  all  claim  upon  her.  We  will  not  judge 
too  harshly  now.  I  am  glad  to  know  that  Sylvia  can  begin  her 
life  afresh." 

Trewartha  looked  surprised  at  this  mercy  where  he  had 
expected  strict  justice  and  condemnation. 

"  Have  you  seen — the  young  man's  father?" 

"Yes.  I  may  as  well  confess — that  Mr.  Gilliat  feels  ter 
ribly  bitter.  It  was  his  only  child.  From  all  I  hear,  the 
youth  could  hardly  have  died  at  a  better  time."  A  slight 
expression  of  contempt  crossed  Trewartha's  face.  "But  I  would 
give  half  my  fortune,  or  all,  that  it  had  not  occurred." 

"You  apprehend  no  danger  to — Victor?  He  must  be 
acquitted  i"  she  exclaimed,  with  her  old  vehemence. 

"Circumstances  multiply.  Gilliat  was  shot  from  the  left 
side,  at  which  Victor  stood,  so  there  can  be  no  hypothesis  of 
accident.  His  man  declares  that  Victor  had  barely  time  to 
turn.  The  pistol  was  found  out  yonder." 

"Yes!"  She  was  studying  Trewartha's  anxious  face 
intently. 

'  "Is  there  some  subtle  demon  at  the  bottom  of  it  all? 
The  pistol  has  a  small  silver  plate  on  which  is  engraved  an 
<H.'" 

"My  God!  But  you  don't  believe — "and  her  strong 
features  trembled  in  ashen  dullness. 

"Until  Victor  Hurst  confesses  the  deed  I  shall  hold  him 
innocent." 

•  "Thank  God!"  grasping  his  arm  with  eager,  desperate  pas 
sion  ;  "for  I  have  come  to  love  the  lad  in  spite  of  his  cold, 
unsocial  ways.  And  I  know  he  could  never  have  done  it." 

"But  even-thing  will  go  against  him.  The  inquest  is  tc 
be  held  to-morrow.  We  shall  all  be  called." 

"  Do  they  think  that  I  can  swear  his  life  away  ?"  she  cried, 
with  sharp  anguish. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

WHEN  Jules  Duconge  took  the  news  of  the  murder  to  St. 
Albans,  the  whole  house  seemed  horror-stricken.  He  told 
his  story  first  to  Mr.  Milnor,  for  he  hardly  dared  face  Mr. 
Gilliat. 

Whatever  hopes  Kirke  Gilliat  might  have  had  for  his  son 
in  by-gone  days,  they  had  perished  utterly  during  the  last  few 
months.  A  dozen  years  like  the  last  two  abroad  would  bring 
Rothermel  near  to  the  auctioneer's  hammer.  He  and  his  wife 
had  lived  elegantly,  sometimes  to  the  extent  of  their  income, 
and  there  was  not  much  lying  back  ;  but  he  had  a  hatred 
of  debt.  So  a  valuable  piece  of  timber  had  gone  to  extricate 
Eustace. 

There  was  nothing  noble,  generous,  or  refined  in  the  lad's 
nature.  Exterior  graces  and  foppishness  he  abounded  in  ;  but 
the  soul  was  unutterably  indigent.  His  father  not  desiring  to 
see  his  faults,  appeared  to  be  made  all  the  more  plainly 
aware  of  them,  as  sometimes  when  one's  eyes  are  tightly  shut, 
a  past  hideous  sight  will  still  linger. 

He  could  never  quite  forget  what  he  had  given  up  for  pos 
sible  children — brave  sons  and  beautiful  daughters,  not  this 
one  poor  puny  body,  and  coarse,  shallow  soul.  Yet,  now 
that  he  was  dead,  Kirke  Gilliat  beat  his  breast  passionately. 
It  was  all  he  had.  And  with  that,  sweet,  tender  child,  Sylvia, 
for  wife,  there  might  have  been  a  nobler  future.  Perhaps  he 
had  been  unjust — all  young  men  went  astray  at  times. 

Half  an  hour  afterward  he  sent  for  Milnor  again. 

"Let  me  hear  the  man's  story,"  he  said,  with  feverish 
haste.  "There  must  be  some  horrible  mistake.  What  had 
Eustace  done  to  make  so  bitter  an  enemy  ?" 


324  With  Fate  against  Him. 

So  Jules  was  called  in  and  questioned  minutely.  The 
story  lost  nothing  at  his  hands.  Not  that  he  wilfully  exagger 
ated,  but  his  sympathies  were  with  his  master,  who  in  his 
best  moods  had  always  been  lavishly  indulgent.  The  threats 
on  the  one  side  were  softened  down,  and  on  the  other,  every 
word  and  gesture  remembered. 

"Victor  Hurst,"  Milnor  said,  thoughtfully.  "I  ought  to 
know  the  name." 

"It  appears  to  me  that  you  mentioned  it  last  winter  when 
you  were  staying  at  Rothermel — it's  an  unusual  name,  too." 

"Oh,  I  remember  some  trade  outbreak  in  one  of  the 
northern  towns — and — why,  it  must  be  the  young  man  in 
whom  Miss  Lowndes  was  so  much  interested,"  with  an  expres 
sion  of  surprise  at  his  own  blindness. 

"That  you  were  half-persuaded  was  a  poor,  struggling 
genius.  But  for  me  you  would  have  taken  him  in  hand. 
A  coarse  bully  and  ruffian." 

' '  Perhaps — " 

"There  may  be  an  excuse  for  some  sins,  but  murder — 
brutal,  wilful  taking  of  life  should  be  shown  no  mercy.  If 
there  is  any  law  in  the  land,  this  man  shall  have  his  deserts. 
There  is  too  much  of  this  taking  the  law  in  one's  own  hands. 
The  rabble  learn  only  by  sharp  punishment. " 

Milnor  profoundly  pitied  the  man,  reading  the  anguish  in 
every  line  of  his  face.  What  was  the  stranger  to  him  ? 

"The  testimony  must  come  out  strong  on  the  inquest. 
This  fellow's  past  life  and  violence,  his  quarrel  with  my  son — • 
everything  that  we  can  find.  Milnor,  I  depute  much  of  this 
to  you,  my  friend.  Help  me  to  remember.  My  brain  seems 
almost  crazed." 

"Do  not  excite  yourself  so  fearfully;"  and  Milnor  laid  his 
hands  on  the  other's  shoulder. 

Gilliat  bowed  his  head,  and  shook  with  a  strong  man's  pas 
sionate  grief. 

"Let  us  go,"  he  said,  presently,  when  he  could  command 


With  Fate  against  Him.  325 

himself.  "  If  they  have  not  arrested  the  cowardly  villain,  he 
may  escape.  And  poor  Sylvia  !  Jules,  go  at  once  for  Doctor 
Trewartha.  Mrs.  Gilliat  is  in  imminent  danger." 

"I  might  drive  you  over,  monsieur;"  and  the  man  bowed 
obsequiously. 

' '  Yes.    I  can  think  of  nothing.    O  God  !  what  a  blow  !" 

"Be  calm,"  entreated  Milnor,  helping  him  to  prepare  for 
the  ride. 

Jules  had  driven  directly  to  the  village  after  his  master's  first 
exclamation,  knowing  that  it  was  not  much  beyond  half  a  mile 
to  the  office  of  Doctor  Greaves.  And  now  the  body  lay  on  a 
long  table  in  the  back  consulting-room,  a  constable  from 
Taunton  keeping  watch  over  it  until  the  jury  could  be  sum 
moned. 

From  the  first,  as  Doctor  Trewartha  said,  the  wound  had 
been  mortal.  When  Greaves  found  it  so  serious  a  matter,  he 
had  despatched  Jules  for  Trewartha  ;  but  the  wounded  man's 
strength  failing  rapidly,  he  sent  for  a  justice  near  by,  afraid  to 
have  the  whole  weight  on  his  hands. 

Eustace  Gilliat's  brain  was  a  fiery,  seething  mass,  brought 
to  a  scarlet  flame  by  his  last  draught  of  brandy  before  he  left 
St.  Albans ;  and  this,  with  his  outburst  of  anger,  jealousy, 
and  furious  resentment  at  suddenly  meeting  the  one  who  had 
struck  him  an  unforgiven  blow,  threw  him  into  a  frantic 
state.  At  first  he  raved  like  a  madman  ;  and  it  was  only  when 
his  strength  began  to  fail  that  he  could  be  quieted.  No  bit 
ter  enemy  could  have  directed  a  more  fatal  shot.  The  group 
questioned  each  other  with  fearful  eyes.  A  murder  was  so 
new  to  them  that  the  shock  went  deep  indeed. 

They  hoped  at  first  to  keep  him  alive  until  the  next  day  ; 
but  at  three  he  began  to  sink.  The  passionate  voice  fell  to  a 
mere  whisper,  and  there  came  into  his  countenance  a  ghastly 
terror  that  those  who  saw  never  forgot. 

But  when  the  last  faint  sigh  passed  the  colorless  lips,  a  touch 
of  boyish  beauty  came  back  to  the  still  face,  bringing  a  thought 


o 


26  With  Fate  against  Him. 


of  pure,  clean  childhood,  before  he  had  begun  to  stain  his  soul 
with  a  man's  dissipations.  And  seeing  him  thus,  the  old  pride 
and  tenderness  returned  to  his  father's  heart.  Death  had 
obliterated  the  sins  and  follies. 

If  anythnig,  it  made  Kirke  Gilliat  a  hundredfold  more 
bitter.  That  this  low  wretch — for  a  man  who  had  been  in  a 
trad*- riot  must,  of  necessity,  be  rough  and  vile — dared  to 
raise  his  hand  against  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature  so  much 
higher  in  the  social  scale,  stamped  the  sin  as  more  foul  in  his 
estimation. 

"  Has  the  man  been  arrested?"  he  asked. 

Thay  gaped  at  one  another.  Arrested  !  Would  Mrs. 
McRae  allow  such  a  thing. 

' '  Constable,  have  a  warrant  gotten  out  immediately.  My 
son's  deposition  renders  it  more  than  a  suspicion.  It  is 
proof  !"  raising  his  voice. 

Trewartha  was  amazed  at  the  chain  of  evidence  ;  but  to  un 
dertake  to  combat  it  was  folly. 

"We  can  keep  him  here  until  the  inquest  is  ended,"  said 
constable  Lowther.  "  After  that  there'll  be  a  regular  commit 
ment  to  Taunton  jail.  Shocking  thing !  I  can't  more  than 
half  believe  it !" 

"I  will  answer  for  him,"  exclaimed  Trewartha,^  clearly. 
"  Victor  Hurst  is  no  coward." 

Kirke  Gilliat's  lip  curled  scornfully. 

"  You  might  have  said  yesterday  that  he  was  no  murderer. 
But  you  see,  you  see  !" 

Milnor  stood  by  thoughtfully.  How  little  Miss  Lowndes 
knew  of  this  turbulent  fellow.  He  was  glad  now  that  he  had 
not  been  persuaded  into  taking  any  interest.  Perhaps  Gilliat 
was  right.  The  crude  effervescence  of  such  rude  brains  could 
never  be  genius,  fine  and  heroic. 

Yet  if  they  two  had  met  on  the  day  of  the  excursion, 
Eustace  Gilliat  might  have  finished  his  life  in  his  own 
fashion.  So  closely  are  we  all  linked  together  that  a  word 


With  Fate  against  Him.  327 

or  deed  changes  the  destiny  of  men  for  all  time,  perhaps 
for  eternity. 

The  stir,  tumult,  and  excitement  were  so  great  that  the  inquest 
did  not  begin  until  mid-afternoon.  Victor  had  been  confined 
in  the  room  above,  a  kind  of  hall  used  for  a  children's  singing- 
school,  and  business  meetings.  A  guard  had  been  detailed  to 
keep  watch  over  him  ;  but  he  sat  listlessly  by  the  window,  with 
the  curtain  nearly  down.  He  heard  the  shuffling  and  sound 
of  voices  below,  he  seemed  to  see  the  dead  man,  and  one  other. 

The  physician's  evidence  was  taken  first.  The  pistol  had 
been  fitted  with  the  ball  extracted  from  the  body.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  but  that  it  had  produced  death.  Trewartha  was 
brief,  but  Greaves  went  through  with  a  professional  diagnosis, 
as  well  as  the  testimony  of  the  dying  man. 

After  that  came  Jules  Duconge.  The  case  appeared  hope 
lessly  clear  when  they  adjourned,  at  dusk  ;  but  there  were  a 
number  of  witnesses  yet  to  examine. 

Trewartha  took  his  way  to  the  cottage.  Janet  McRae  was 
still  there.  Anah  Hurst,  in  this  bitter  desolation,  seemed  very 
near  to  her.  And  though  she  would  rather  have  held  the  poor 
woman's  hand  in  silence,  she  forced  herself  to  go  about,-  to 
cheer  John  Hurst,  fretting  for  his  absent  son,  and  rouse  Sylvia 
from  her  torpor. 

She  started  at  Trewartha's  step,  and  went  out  to  the  door. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  sharp,  nervous  whisper. 

' '  It's  not  ended.  But,  oh  Heaven  !  It  will  be  the  worst, 
the  worst  !" 

"No  !"     Her  strong  frame  trembled  like  an  autumn  leaf. 

"Yes.  You  will  be  summoned  to-morrow.  Somehow 
they  have  learned  about  the  trouble  at  Weareham,  which  will  be 
another  thing  to  go  against  him.  And  Sylvia's  testimony  will 
be  needed." 

"  Did  you  see — him  ?" 

"Yes.  I  am  going  back  to  spend  the  night  with  him.  He 
is  very  quiet,  with  grand,  steady  lines  in  his  face,  but  an  awful 


328  With  Fate  against  Him. 

shadow,  as  if  some  sight  was  perpetually  haunting  him.  But 
it  cannot  be.  He  is  quick  of  temper,  yet  utterly  incapable  of 
such  a  deed." 

"  He  is  !  he  is  !  Let  us  believe  that  to  the  last.  I  never 
was  much  mistaken  in  any  one  before." 

"If  it  had  not  been  for  that  old  quarrel !  Why  must  all  the 
deeds  of  a  man's  life  be  dragged  up  against  him  in  an  unfor 
tunate  moment  ?  Yet  there  is  such  a  strange  mystery  about  it. 
I  incline  to  the  opinion  that  Eustace  Gilliat  must  have  had  a 
mortal  enemy  dogging  his  steps." 

He  went  in  and  spoke  a  few  words  to  Mrs.  Hurst,  and 
examined  Sylvia,  whose  eyes  were  feverishly  bright. 

"Child,"  he  said  gently,  "they  will  need  your  story  to 
morrow.  If  you  know  anything  that  may  ease  matters  for 
him—" 

She  shivered  violently  and  seemed  to  shrink  from  the  kindly 
clasp. 

"The  truth, "she  moaned,  "the  bitter,  bitter  truth!  Oh, 
why  does  God  make  it  so  hard  to  tell  ?  If  we  could  say — " 

"If  he  had  come  in  before  the  shot  was  fired  ?" 

' '  But  he  did  not. "  She  uttered  it  with  the  apathy  of 
despair. 

The  morning  dawned  too  soon.  Sylvia  did  not  sleep  at  all, 
but  lay  all  night  with  drear}',  wide-open  eyes.  The  man  she 
loved.  She  knew  it  now  with  hot  flushes  of  pain  and  shame. 
And  because  she  had  been  willing  to  bear  about  a  lie  on  her 
own  soul,  to  respond  to  words  that  found  no  echo  in  her  heart, 
to  submit  her  lips  to  kisses  that  were  pollution, — and  she  rub 
bed  her  mouth  vehemently  with  the  corner  of  the  sheet,  fresh 
from  Anah  Hurst's  press,  fragrant  with  dried  rose-leaves,  as  if 
she  would  scour  off  all  the  stain.  In  doing  this  she  had 
jeopardized  the  one  life  that  would  always  be  most  precious  to 
her.  Ah,  God  !  what  a  terrible  punishment ! 

She  had  thought  little  before  of  the  unseen  forces  ebbing 
and  flowing  in  her  soul,  to  give  it  vital  force  and  self-reliance. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  329 

Instead,  she  had  been  content  to  drift  on  crested  waves,  to  dip 
dainty  fingers  in  the  clear  streams,  and  shake  off  pearls  with  a 
laugh.  It  could  never  be  so  again.  The  whole  current  of  her 
life  had  changed.  Three  months  ago,  a  thoughtless  child;  to 
night,  a  sad,  strong  woman. 

Yet  the  flesh  was  miserably  weak  when  she  rose  and  dressed 
herself.  There  need  be  no  curls  this  morning,  no  twisting  of 
golden  threads  over  her  fingers,  when  one  dear  heart  lay  dead  up 
at  Cousin  Braisted's,  whither  he  had  been  taken,  and  the  other 
was  banned  a  criminal  before  the  world. 

Janet  McRae  looked  in  upon  her.    "Child  1"  she  exclaimed, 
aghast,  "are  you  well  enough  ?    For  the  trial  will  be  terrible." 
' '  Yes.     And  yet  God  never  deserted  any  one  for  telling  the 
truth." 

"They  were  racked,  they  were  burned  at  the  stake,  and 
thrown  to  wild  beasts.  It  is  no  fable.  God  knows  the  torture 
is  all  here.  Still  we  must  be  strong." 

"Yes;"  with  her  eyes  on  the  floor,  and  her  white  ringers 
moving  slowly  over  the  buttons  of  her  dress,  fumbling  as  if 
they  had  lost  their  strength. 

"Child,  child  !  I  don't  know  what  makes  you  seem  so  near 
this  morning,  or  so  like  a  woman." 

"Perhaps  it  is  because  I've  come  to  the  simple  truth,  and 
mean  to  keep  there  all  the  rest  of  my  life.  Oh,  Mrs.  McRae, 
why  do  they  not  teach  us  girls  what  a  grand  and  solemn  thing 
it  is  to  live,  and  that  we  have  the  lives  of  others  in  our  hands? 
If  I  had  known  it  before !" 

Janet  McRae  kissed  the  white,  cold  forehead. 
"  I've  been  praying  through  the  night.    God  isn't  so  far  off, 
after  all.     I  think  He  will  see  that  every  one  comes  to  his  or 
her  right." 

There  was  a  strange  awesomeness  in  her  tone. 
"I  don't  understand,"  Mrs.  McRae  muttered,  feeling  that 
the  child  had  gained  some  knowledge  far  beyond  her  eagle 
vision. 


33°  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Trewartha  came  for  them  at  ten. 

"Oh,"  Mrs.  McRae  exclaimed,  with  a  vehement  burst  of 
emotion,  "how  can  I,  how  can  I  ?  I  was  so  proud  to  bring 
him  here.  I  meant  to  make  his  life  full  and  happy  and  satis 
fying  ;  then  to  have  this  dead  fruit — so  bitter  to  the  taste. " 

"  It  would  go  against  him  anyhow.  Trie  little  more  or  less 
cannot  save  him  now.  We  shall  have  to  fight  afterward." 

It  seemed  to  Janet  McRae  that  she  had  never  known  any 
trial  before,  during  the  whole  of  her  prosperous  life.  Yesterday 
she  would  have  passed  by  this  rabble — she  was  aristocratic.. in 
her  way  as  well — with  a  nod  of  cheerful  indifference.  Lowther, 
Carton,  Doctor  Greaves,  and  these  twelve  jurymen  were  of  no 
special  import  at  their  daily  duties  ;  but  now,  when  they  held 
a  life  in  their  hands  ! 

The  examination  had  commenced  with  the  finding  of  the 
pistol  and  its  significant  letter,  which  would  be  weight  upon 
the  trial  even  against  the  declaration  of  Victor  Hurst.  Then 
Mrs.  McRae  was  called. 

Terrible  as  the  truth  might  be,  she  could  not  waver  here. 
She  had  never  consciously  glossed  over  a  falsehood.  But  her 
answers  were  most  brief.  She  had  heard  the  disturbance, 
the  voice  of  Eustace  Gilliat  raised  in  a  passion,  the  shot 
fired. 

"Was  it  before  Victor  Hurst  returned  to  the  room?" 

The  very  air  about  her  seemed  to  tremble. 

"It  was."     Oh,  God  !  help  and  pity  her. 

"  Did  Victor  Hurst  seem  in  any  way  confused  or  embarrassed 
afterward  ?" 

"Not  to  her  mind.  He  had  declared  himself  innocent, 
when  he  heard  of  the  murder." 

"Sylvia  Redmond." 

She  came  forward,  raising  her  veil  a  trifle,  and  thankful  that 
she  could  follow  in  the  beaten  track,  not  having  to  say  these 
words  for  the  first  time.  In  this  respect  the  evidence  was 
merely  a  repetition. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  331 

"Did  she  know  anything  about  the  enmity  between  the  two 
men  ?  Had  she  heard  any  threats  on  either  side?" 

"I  was  at  the  Bohmerwald  festival,"  in  a  low,  clear  tone. 
"Eustace  Gilliat  accompanied  the  party." 

Every  one  turned  at  this. 

"  Did  you  know  of  any  quarrel  ?" 

"I  think  there  was  none.  I  have  never  heard  Eustace 
Gilliat  mention  it" 

"You  saw  Victor  Hurst  present  ?" 

"  I  did.  I  know  that  no  dispute  of  any  kind  occurred  before 
the  supper.  Shortly  afterward  we  returned  to  our  hotel.  The 
cause  of  the  trouble,  on  the  fatal  evening,  was  that  Mr.  Gilliat 
desired  to  take  me  home  to  St.  Albans  ;  but  I  refused,  as  my 
father  was  dying.  Victor  Hurst  had  nothing  to  do  with  it, 
except  to  take  my  message.  I  could  not  see  Mr.  Gilliat  then, 
but  the  fault  or  blame  does  not  rightly  belong  to  Mr.  Hurst. 
There  was  nothing  in  the  message  that  ought  to  have  offended. 
Under  different  circumstances  I  should  not  have  gone." 

There  was  a  sudden  cooling  of  violent  prejudice,  as  Sylvia 
Redmond  took  her  seat.  One  and  another  felt  that  the  cause 
might  have  been  less  than  they  at  first  imagined.  And  if 
Gilliat  had  been  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  as  Trewartha 
so  clearly  stated  ! 

Still,  there  were  the  overwhelming  facts.  A  murder  had 
been  done,  and  what  hand  except  Victor  Hurst's  could  have 
fired  the  fatal  shot  ? 

A  few  more  witnesses  were  called,  and  the  jurors  began  to 
consider  the  case  within  themselves.  Half  an  hour's  discussion 
and  their  verdict  was  ready.  There  was  a  stillness  almost  as 
solemn  as  if  their  decision  was  to  be  the  final  one. 

"We  find  that  Eustace  Gilliat  came  to  his  death,  on  the 
night  of  September  tenth,  by  a  wound  from  a  pistol,  discharged 
at  the  hands  of  Victor  Hurst." 

"  M?.ke  out  the  necessary  papers.  The  man  must  be  com 
mitted  for  trial." 


With  Fate  against  Him. 

Then  the  solemnity  was  broken  by  stir  and  shuffle  and  the 
hum  of  voices.  Trewartha  came  to  Sylvia  and  pressed  her  cold, 
ungloved  fingers.  Although  she  swayed  like  a  lily  on  its  stem, 
and  her  face  was  of  lily  whiteness,  something  in  her  eyes  told 
that  the  agony  was  too  tense  to  allow  of  fainting. 

"Oh  1"  with  a  low,  wild  cry  that  went  hardly  farther  than 
his  ears,  "I  am  the  cause  of  it  all !  There  is  nothing  in  my 
life  that  could  make  amends  for  his,  and  the  bitter  shame,  the 
suffering,  the  pangs  of  his  mother — " 

"  Hush,  child.  Do  not  make  your  burden  heavier  by  fierce 
upbraidings.  There  is  a  strange  mystery  about  it  all.  I  think 
it  must  come  right,  but  I  don't  know  hpw." 

"  He  is  innocent!"  with  a  feverish,  passionate. force.  "If  I 
could  see  him  and  tell  him  so." 

' '  You  can.  Will  it  not  be  too  much  ?"  after  a  moment's 
pause,  noting  the  strained  hard  lines  about  the  mouth. 

"No,  no  ;"  wringing  her  hands  wearily. 

The  conclave  broke  up.  It  was  so  clear  to  all  their  minds 
that  the  final  verdict  was  a  foregone  conclusion. 

The  prisoner  would  be  taken  to  Taunton  jail.  "No,"  in 
answer  to  a  question  of  Trewartha's,  "there  could  be  no  pres 
ent  arrangement  made  concerning  bail  ;  and  in  a  criminal  case 
like  this — where  it  was  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature — " 

"Will  you  see — him?"  asked  Milnor,  a  faint  curiosity 
stirring  his  own  languid  nerves. 

"See — him?"  and  Kirke  Gilliat  turned  with  an  expression 
of  disgust  on  his  handsome,  worldly  face.  "No,  I  have  no 
morbid  desire  to  gaze  at  a  low,  vile  criminal,  whose  hands  are 
stained  with  blood — and  the  blood  that  of  my  own  child. 
Let  us  get  out  of  this  crowd.  The  very  air  stifles  me." 

He  could  not  even  go  over  there  and  speak  to  Sylvia  Red 
mond.  She,  too,  had  sunk  in  his  estimation,  since  it  was 
plain  her  bias  was  in  favor  of  the  prisoner — a  coarse,  restless, 
turbulent  fellow,  who  was  beginning  early  in  youth  a  shameful 
career.  What  did  it  matter  if  he  went  to  the  hangman  ? 


• 
With  Fate  against  Him.  333 

The  evil  deeds  of  his  own  son  were  forgotten.  Why,  his 
sensual,  wine-flavored,  self-indulgent  life,  his  gaming  and  sins 
looked  clean,  of  course,  beside  the  crime  of  this  one,  come 
up  from  the  air  of  shops  and  trade-riots. 

They  picked  their  way  out.  Sylvia  shivered,  glad  that  he  had 
not  spoken,  yet  cut  to  the  quick  by  the  open  neglect.  The 
crowd  still  lingered,  watching  the  elegant  Gilliat  carriage  roll 
away,  and  then  waiting  for  the  other  to  be  started  on  his  journey. 

After  awhile  the  three  went  up-stairs.  Victor  was  strangely 
calm,  and  helped  them  all  to  keep  their  self-possession. 

"It  will  only  be  for  a  few  days,"  said  Trewartha.  "If 
Cragness  and  the  Cedars  are  not  enough,  we  will  put  the  whole 
county  under  bonds." 

Victor  took  Sylvia's  hands.  At  first  she  could  not  speak  ; 
but  he  read  the  face  slowly.  So  changed,  so  full  of  pain  and 
heroic  tenderness,  and  sublimed  by  a  faith  that  thrilled  him 
to  the  heart's  core. 

"I  am  clean  in  your  eyes?"  he  whispered,  the  voice  hoarse 
and  tremulous,  though  scarcely  above  a  breath. 

For  answer  she  bowed  a  little,  letting  her  veil  fall,  and  un 
der  cover  of  it,  she  pressed  her  lips  to  the  hand  that  held  hers. 
He  knew  then  the  secret  of  her  soul.  What  did  it  matter  to 
her  ?  Was  there  any  shame  in  the  truth,  the  noble  integrity 
that  she  was  henceforth  to  make  her  standard  ? 

Trewartha  insisted  that  they  should  leave  him  there.  He 
did  not  want  them  to  remember  the  other  picture — the  lad 
they  loved  going  off  to  a  felon's  cell  with  a  constable  by  his 
side. 

Anah  Hurst  sat  by  the  window,  waiting.  John  had  been 
very  drowsy  all  day,  and  was  now  asleep.  Seeing  them  come, 
she  went  down  the  path. 

"Oh!"  with  a  wild,  despairing  cry,  reading  the  secret  in 
their  pained  faces. 

Janet  McRae  took  her  in  in  her  strong  arms,  towering 
above  her  like  a  man. 


334  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"  Anah  Hurst,  the  hand  of  God  is  laid  heavily  upon  us.  If 
He  ever  heard  prayer  or  cry  of  yours,  pray  to  Him  now.  As 
for  me— well,  I  think  I've  been  my  own  God.  All  my  life  I 
have  glorified  my  own  works. '  I  have  pulled  down  and  builded 
up,  measured  the  souls  of  men  and  women,  and  meted  out 
my  own  justice  or  beneficence.  I  thought  to  do  so  with  him. 
Don't  curse  me  in  your  mother's  grief.  I  meant  to  make  him 
rich  and  honored,  and  give  him  a  high  station  for  my  own 
pleasure.  This  is  the  work  of  my  hands,  the  punishment  of 
my  pride.  Friends,  pray  for  me  as  well  as  him. " 

They  never  forgot  that  tone  of  strong  agony  and  bitter  hu 
miliation. 

"No,  no  !"  Anah  Hurst  said,  wanderingly. 

"  You  and  John  have  the  right  secret  of  life,  maybe.  Chil 
dren,  I  am  an  old,  old  woman.  Be  merciful."  And  with  that 
she  sank  down  on  the  door-step,  while  her  vigorous  frame 
shook  as  if  palsied. 

Anah  Hurst  kissed  the  cold  lips,  and  then  said,  in  a  strong, 
calm  voice — 

"I  too,  have  a  duty.  I  believe  God  has  transformed  my 
heaviest  cross  into  the  means  of  saving  my  son.  I  must  see 
Kirke  Gilliat  this  very  night,  before  I  sleep.  Will  you  take 
me  to  St.  Albans,  Doctor  Trewartha  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

SYLVIA  decided  to  go  to  St.  Albans  also.  James  Redmond's 
body  was  lying  at  the  house  of  Rachel  Braisted,  still  unburied, 
and  she  must  learn  her  mother's  wishes  upon  the  subject. 
Although  she  felt  wretchedly  weak  she  nerved  both  soul  and 
body  for  the  task. 

Long  before  they  reached  their  journey's  end,  the  night  set 
in,  gloomy  and  starless.  They  wound  round  the  ghostly  hills, 
the  two  women  clasping  hands  tightly  under  cover  of  their 
shawls,  drawing  so  near  to  each  other,  yet  neither  knowing 
what  was  in  the  other's  heart,  only  the  chain  of  broad,  com 
mon  suffering. 

Trewartha  handed  them  out  at  length.  Sylvia  led  her  com 
panion  up  the  broad  hotel  steps,  through  the  wide  hall  to  a 
reception-room,  and  sent  a  message  to  Mr.  Gilliat. 

Mr.  Milnor  answered  the  summons. 

"  My  friend  is  so  utterly  worn  out  and  exhausted  that  he 
can  see  no  one  this  evening.  I  might  possibly  attend  to  your 
business,  if  it  is  urgent." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  quietly.  "  I  must  see  him."  Then, 
drawing  a  folded  paper  from  her  reticule,  she  continued — 
"  Will  you  please  hand  him  this  ?" 

She  had  sent  her  own  name  first.  It  gave  her  woman's 
heart  a  bitter  pang  to  know  he  had  cared  so  little  that  he  had 
never  taken  the  trouble  to  inquire  what  her  destiny  might  be, 
and  as  Mrs.  Hurst,  in  his  sight,  she  was  simply  the  mother  of  a 
criminal. 

Kirke  Gilliat  opened  the  paper  with  an  impatient  frown. 
"  Has  the  woman  no  delicacy?"  he  flung  out  angrily.  "  Yet 
what  could  one  expect  ?" 


336  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"  Anah  McRae  Hurst.     Northfield,  18— " 

He  staggered  with  the  suddenness  of  the  blow,  and  dashed 
his  clinched  hand  against  his  forehead. 

"Milnor  !"  glancing  wildly  around — "stay — I  Must  see 
her — where  we  cannot  be  interrupted.  Will  you  allow  me  the 
use  of  your  room  ?" 

For  it  would  never  do  to  talk  to  Anah  McRae  with  only 
a  door  between  her  voice  and  his  wife.  Mrs.  McRae  of  Crag- 
ness.  He  saw  it  all  now.  If  he  had  known  of  the  connection 
before ! 

After  giving  Milnor  time  to  escort  her  thither,  he  walked 
slowly  up  the  stairs,  a  horrible  thought  of  retribution  entering 
his  mind.  Had  the  old  warning  been  interpreted  as  a  curse 
in  his  case  ?  "The  sins  of  the  fathers — " 

She  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  dimly-lighted  room, 
a  pale,  plainly-dressed  gentlewoman,  not  to -be  compared  to 
Beatrice  Gilliat,  her  senior  by  some  •  years.  But  the  chances 
of  life  had  been  so  different.  Toil  and  poverty  had  left  their 
signet,  coming  out  plainer  now  that  she  was  weary  and  suffering. 
The  man's  fastidious  sense  took  it  all  in,  judging  without 
understanding  the  hidden  causes. 

"My  God  !"  he  said  ;  "I  never  guessed  that  you  were  his 
mother  !" 

AT 

"  Yes  ;"  steadying  her  voice.  "I  have  borne  my  pain  alone 
these  many  years,  and  I  have  come  to  lay  a  part  of  it  on  your 
shoulders.  It  is  your  son,  Kirke  Gilliat,  who  is  to  sleep  in  a 
felon's  cell  to-night." 

"Oh,  Anah  !"  with  a  wild  cry  of  anguish  as  the  truth  was 
thus  certified.  "  A  brother's  hand  raised  against  brother  !" 

"Yes,  it  was  that,  though  Victor  is  innocent.  It  was  the 
son  of  the  free  woman  against  the  son  of  the  bond  woman  ;'' 
with  a  shrill,  hysterical  laugh. 

"No,  it  cannot  be,"  he  said.      "You  mock  me."  \ 

For,  with  all  that  sharp,  clear  evidence  before  him,  he  could 
see  the  guilt  of  Victor  Hurst,  and  it  added  to  his  pang; Awhile 


With  Fate  against  Him.  337 

she,  believing  him  innocent,  had  not  the  horrible  certainty  to 
drive  her  to  despair. 

"You  know  nothing  about  him  ;"  in  her  earnest,  decisive 
way,  for  now  all  the  old  hesitation  had  dropped  off  like  a 
worn-out  garment.  "  He  has  had  his  faults — but  he  never  told 
me,  his  mother,  a  deliberate  lie  in  his  life.  If  he  had  been 
guilty,  he  would  have  kept  silence." 

"  But  you — married  ?" 

"  I  did.  After  the  announcement  of  Kirke  Gilliat's  espousal 
of  his  cousin,  I  married  a  good,  honorable  man,  who  had 
secretly  loved  me  a  long  while,  and  who  offered  me  a  name 
for  myself,  and  my  child.  And  yet  it  was  hardly  my  own 
wish.  Not  that  I  had  any  doubt  of  my  own  right — you  had 
taken  good  care  of  that,"  smiling  bitterly.  "But  to  me  that 
false  marriage  was  a  life-long  sacred  bond.  Had  I  stood 
entirely  alone  in  the  world,  I  think  I  would  have  borne  the 
shame.  If  I  could  have  found  a  place  for  my  child,  where  he 
would  not  have  been  crowded  to  the  wall  for  another  man's 
sin,  I  might  still  have  braved  the  consequences.  But  the  faces 
that  smiled  on  you  would  have  been  shocked  at  sight  of  me. 
The  falsehood  and  deception  that  they  could  forgive  on  the 
man's  part,  was  whiteness  compared  to  a  simple  act  of  trust  on 
a  woman's." 

He  knew  of  a  sin  blacker  than  any  of  which  she  held  him 
guilty.  If  he  could  make  reparation  here  and  now  ;  but  that 
was  madness. 

"My  son!"  he  answered,  hoarsely.  "And  this  man — 
whom  you  married — " 

"  I  am  not  sure  but  that  it  was  a  crime.  I  could  not  see 
clearly  in  those  days,  when  I  was  racked  with  anguish  and 
despair  ;  but  I  knew  well  that  he  would  watch  over  me,  that  my 
pain  and  shame  would  be  his  through  his  love  ;  that  to  see  me 
disgraced  in  the  world's  estimation,  thrust  out  to  perish,  would 
cause  him  more  suffering  than  if  he  befriended  me  ;  and  I  did 
my  best  to  repay  him.  Perhaps  I  had  no  right  thus  to  save 

'5 

4 


338  With  Fate  against  Him. 

myself,  having  once  believed  and  loved — my  only  crime.  For 
I  think  even  now  that  you  will  bear  witness  to  some  fears  and 
hesitation  on  my  part.  I  would  fain  have  delayed  the 
ceremony,  used  only  to  quiet  my  conscience,  by  a  man  who 
was  integrity  itself  to  his  compeers,  men  of  the  world,  who 
would  have  scorned  a  lie  in  any  business  transaction,  but 
thought  it  no  sin  to  deceive  the  woman  who  loved  him,  to 
betray  her  with  the  most  sacred  vow  a  man  ever  can  give." 

"Have  mercy,"  he  cried,  weakly,  "  have  mercy  !  If  you 
could  know  all  the — the  circumstances. " 

"The  results  I  do  know.  My  son  defrauded  of  his  just  birth 
right,  and  now  in  a  prison  cell,  accused  of  a  monstrous  crime  ; 
and  our  lives  with  their  nameless  blight  and  pain." 

"  God  help  me  !"  and  he  began  to  pace  the  room.  "Tell 
me  what  to  do.  But  how  can  I  save  him  ?" 

She  read  the  marks  of  anguish  in  the  still  handsome  but 
worldly  face,  yet  she  understood  now  that  all  pangs  were 
evanescent  with  this  nature,  in  which  there  was  some  weak, 
fatal  flaw. 

"  God  knows  what  I  would  give  to  go  back  now  to  the  hour 
of  our  parting." 

Having  lived  through  the  past,  and  not  found  in  it  the  com 
plete  satisfaction  that  it  had  promised,  he  would  fain  have  it 
different  Was  that  repentance  for  his  sin  against  her  ?  She 
felt  and  spurned  the  paltry  concession. 

"We  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  past,  Mr.  Gilliat,"  she 
returned,  coldly.  "  You  have  a  wife,  and  I  a  husband.  Even 
if  it  were  not  so,  you  would  see  the  difference  between  us  too 
plainly.  If  I  lacked  culture,  beauty,  and  elegance  in  the  days 
of  my  youth,  a  hard,  narrow  life  has  only  added  to  the  wants." 

' '  No,  it  was  not  that, "  vehemently.  ' '  There  was  a  kind 
of  fate  planned  out  for  me  from  the  first." 

"  Did  I  ask  for  your  love  ?  for  this  miserable  mockery  of 
marriage  ?" 

She  felt  his  cowardice  and  cruelty  so  keenly.     A  little  truth 


With  Fate  against  Him.  339 

in  the  beginning  would  have  saved  these  terrible  complications, 
and  a  hard  wrench  then  would  have  proved  more  merciful 
than  t,his  life-long  agony. 

He  came  back  and  seated  himself  at  the  table,  leaning  his 
chin  upon  his  'and.  The  light  being  in  range,  gave  her  his 
face  distinctly.  How  much  ease,  indulgence,  and  self-love  had 
gone  into  it  with  the  years.  She  knew  another  that  had  taken 
some  of  its  best  points,  but  her  misgiving  for  this  young, 
vigorous  life  had  strangely  ended.  For  the  past  six  months  it 
had  reached  a  truer  comprehension  of  the  honest,  earnest 
purpose  that  saves  souls  from  baser  self-engrossment. 

"Tell  me  what  to  do."     His  voice  was  strained  and  hoarse, 

*and   seemed   to   have   in   it  something   of    womanish    pain. 

"Every  particle  of  testimony  went  against  him.     My  son  as 

well !     Good  God !    this  is  a  bitter  retribution.     If  I  could 

believe  him  innocent  !" 

"  If  I  could  not  have  told  you  this  truth  I  should  not  have 
come.  You  can  at  least  refrain  from  persecuting  him.  You 
can  give  him  the  chance  of  any  doubt  that  may  arise.  The 
rest  must  be  left  to  a  higher  power — God." 

He  rose  again  and  approached  her.  The  face  was  pure 
and  proud,  and  gave  token  of  a  higher  spiritual  life  than  his. 
He  knew  then  how  he  was  judged,  and  in  spite  of  the  old 
love,  despised. 

"  He  shall  not  want  for  anything,  and  if  I  could  change 
circumstances — " 

' '  I  only  ask  that  his  own  father  may  not  hurry  him  to  final 
shame  ;"  and  her  voice  was  clearly  cold.  "  He  has  friends — 
money  ;  do  not  think  I  came  for  these." 

"You  are  the  last  of  the  McRaes,  I  believe." 

"Janet  McRae  is  the  last  of  her  pure  line  ;"  with  an  em 
phasis  that  stung  him  keenly. 

"But—" 

"  If  you  are  thinking  of — Victor  in  connection  with  Mrs. 
McRae,  I  can  tell  you  that  he  would  never  take  his  disgrace 


34-O  With  Fate  against  Hint. 

there.  When  my  husband  dies,  my  son  and  I  will  leave  the 
places  that  have  known  us,  and  begin  anew." 

"Then  he  is  aware — "  and  Kirke  Gilliat's  pale,  tortured 
face  flushed  the  deepest  crimson. 

"Yes.  I  could  not  keep  the  horrible  secret  out  of  my  eyes 
on  that  fatal  morning  ;"  her  voice  sharpening  unconsciously. 

He  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands  and  was  silent  a  long 
while. 

"God  knows  that  I  am  glad  to  have  him  feel  innocent.  I 
cannot  take  it  all  in  now,  with  the  dead  lying  in  yonder 
room,  but  you  may  trust  us." 

"That  is  enough." 

She  rose  as  if  she  would  go.  Why  should  he  detain  her  ? 
What  could  he  offer  in  extenuation  of  his  deep  and  deadly 
sin?  He  felt  as  if  a  decade  of  years  had  swept  over  him.  His 
limbs  were  feeble,  his  brain  stunned,  confused. 

"The  sin  is  too  great  to  be  forgiven,"  he  said,  weakly. 

She  knew  what  he  meant,  but  she  could  not  take  his  hand 
there.  Her  pangs  had  been  too  keen  and  bitter,  besides,  she 
realized  more  keenly  than  ever  how  she  had  loved  this  man, 
and  how,  in  spite  of  all,  the  pain  had  lasted  through  weary- 
years.  She  wished  him  no  ill,  but  she  could  not  begin  to  wish 
him  well  just  at  this  moment. 

"God  is  merciful." 

With  that  she  turned  away.  He  made  no  effort  to  detain 
her,  for  the  consequences  of  his  sin  overwhelmed  and  hu 
miliated  him. 

Anah  Hurst  found  her  way  down  the  stairs  to  the  main  hall. 
Sylvia  was  waiting  with  a  tired,  awe-stricken  face.  Neither 
asked  the  other  any  questions  as  Dr.  Trewartha  drove  home 
ward  over  the  dark,  silent  road. 

Mrs.  Redmond  was  still  too  weak  and  hysterical  to  give  any 
advice,  so  Rachel  Braisted  ordered  the  burial  of  Sylvia's  father. 
At  St.  Albans  there  was  a  general  dispersion,  owing  in  part  to 
the  lateness  of  the  season  as  well  as  to  the  terrible  tragedy. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  341 

Mr.  Gilliat  sought  his  friend  Milnor  the  next  morning, 
who  was  shocked  at  the  change  a  night  had  wrought.  He 
seemed  quite  like  an  old  man,  with  his  gray,  wrinkled  face, 
hesitating  gait,  and  slow,  wandering  speech. 

"  Milnor,"  he  began,  "I  place  this  matter  in  your  hands. 
It  may  not  be  quite  as  we  think.  If  there  is  any  chance  to — 
to  prove  the  young  man  innocent,  throw  no  obstacle  in  the 
way.  And  if  you  will  see  him — you  may  be  able  to  judge 
better." 

Mr.  Milnor  was  silent  from  amazement. 

"Yes,  see  him.     Bring  me  a  report.     That  is  all." 

"Anything  in  my  power  shall  be  most  cheerfully  done, 
rest  assured  of  that." 

' '  And  now  we  must  make  preparations  for  our  return  to 
Rothermel.  Mrs.  Gilliat  is  most  anxious  to  get  away." 

"  But  will  she  be  able  to  take  the  journey?" 

"She  has  resolved  upon  it." 

After  Beatrice  Gilliat  came  out  of  her  long,  death-like  swoon, 
she  began  to  gather  strength  and  courage  for  this  step.  She 
would  have  been  glad  of  Mrs.  Redmond's  company  ;  but  that 
was  quite  impossible,  for  Margaret  Redmond  was  utterly 
crushed  by  the  two  blows,  and  the  downfall  of  her  brightest 
hopes.  James  Redmond  had  been  to  St.  Albans,  had  plead 
for  an  interview  with  his  daughter,  and  met  with  a  cold  repulse. 
What  Margaret  would  have  done  finally,  she  hardly  knew; 
but  she  was  determined  not  to  confess  James  Redmond's  ex 
istence  until  Sylvia's  marriage  was  accomplished.  But  to  do 
her  justice,  she  had  no  thought  of  his  dying  so  soon  ;  and  she 
was  humiliated  by  the  fear  of  his  having  repeated  the  substance 
of  the  conversation.  Then  to  her  mind  Sylvia  was  in  some 
way  answerable  for  Eustace  Gilliat's  death,  and  the  loss  of 
honor  and  wealth  that  might  have  accrued  to  her. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  they  reached  the  cottage,  where 
Janet  McRae  was  anxiously  waiting.  She  wisely  forebore  to 
question,  but  took  Sylvia  in  her  arms  like  the  tenderest  of 


342  With  Fate  against  Him. 

mothers.     Trewartha  threw  himself  on  the  sofa ;  but  no  one 
slept,  thinking  of  him  whose  abode  was  a  prison  cell. 

Victor  Hurst  had  been  overwhelmed  by  the  mass  of  evidence 
against  him.  No  one  realized  more  clearly  than  he  the  terri 
ble  situation  in  which  he  had  been  placed  by  the  culmination 
of  untoward  circumstances.  He  could  hardly  believe  it  at 
first,  and  the  coroner's  verdict  stunned  him. 

But  keener  than  all  was.  the  other  shame  and  agony — the 
secret  that  he  had  read  in  his  mother's  eyes,  the  thought  of  the 
hatred  that  had  been  a  subtle,  underlying  curse.  If  his  hands 
were  clean,  was  his  heart  quite  clear  ?  There  had  been  jeal 
ousy  and  envying  from  the  night  of  their  first  ill-fated  meeting. 
And  yet  would  he  have  willingly  changed  lives  with  the  law 
ful  son  of  Kirke  Gilliat,  have  taken  his  narrow  soul,  his  vapid 
brain,  his  indolence  and  vices  ? 

No  :  a  thousand  times  no  !  He  saw  clearly  now,  how  little 
birth  and  so-called  pure  blood  could  do  for  a  man.  A  large, 
true,  earnest  soul  was  needed  to  lift  him  out  of  the  slough  up 
there,  as  well  as  down  yonder  among  the  shops  and  crowded 
streets.  A  man  must  work  for  himself,  though  all  these  helps 
were  far  from  being  despised.  He  had  toiled  night  after 
night  on  the  lines  of  some  drawing,  where  books  or  a  teacher 
would  have  opened  his  eyes  hours  sooner.  And  there,  in  his 
little  nook  among  the  ledges  of  the  mountain,  he  had  tried  to 
cut  the  secret  ambition  of  his  soul  into  shape.  He  understood 
now  what  it  was.  For  the  sake  of  that  love  and  desire  he 
could  endure  poverty,  cold,  hunger,  and  loneliness  cheerfully, 
so  that  he  might  succeed  at  the  last. 

Yet  in  a  dim,  far-off  way  he  was  beginning  to  see  other 
truths.  Was  ambition  the  best  thing  to  life  ?  Were  there  not 
duties,  sacred  trusts,  grand  truths  to  be  evolved  and  applied 
to  every-day  matters  ? 

And  now,  remembering  Eustace  Gilliat,  as  he  had  seen  him 
more  than  once,  with  his  flushed  face  and  watery  eyes,  the 
effeminate,  sensual  expression  of  his  weak  countenance,  he 


With  Fate  against  Him.  343 

fancied  what  John  Hurst  must  have  dreaded  for  him.  There 
were  temptations  on  every  hand.  This  young  man  had  his 
father's  position  to  keep  him  up  :  he,  Victor,  would  have  gone 
swiftly  down  the  rushing  current.  At  this  moment  he  did 
John  Hurst  full  justice.  In  some  strange  way  he  seemed  to 
understand  what  there  had  been  to  go  against — his  own  hot, 
headstrong  temper,  his  hasty,  unreasoning  dislikes,  and  the 
impossibility  of  one  soul  reading  another  so  perfectly  that  all  its 
wants  and  hungering  could  be  fathomed  at  a  glance.  Human 
ity  was  grander  and  more  abstruse  than  a  bit  of  rock  or 
clay. 

In  these  communings  he  lost  sight  of  the  fate  which  girded 
him  about.  There  was  a  Hand  in  it  all,  whose  workings  he 
could  not  master  in  his  thoughts;  a  scheme  of  something 
that  he  was  not  wise  enough  to  translate.  But  he  felt  the 
Power  in  this  awful  night  of  loneliness,  the  Mightier  spirit 
guiding  the  work  of  justice  which  will  surely  come  hereafter 
if  not  here.  He  had  been  kept  from  staining  his  hands  with 
a  brother's  blood,  even  though  the  whole  world  believed  him 
guilty.  God  only  could  bring  out  the  truth.  He  seemed  to 
realize  how  impotent  all-  human  strength  and  foresight  were, 
and  he  cried  to  God,  not  in  despair,  hut  with  a  faith  that  grew 
strong  even  while  it  trembled. 

Janet  McRae  and  Sylvia  left  early  the  next  morning.  Tre- 
wartha  went  to  Taunton  and  heard  some  tidings  which  he  took 
to  Victor  at  once. 

"An  odd  enough  circumstance — the  first  end  of  the 
mystery  that  I  fancy  we  can  unravel.  If  Smith  Carson  could 
have  known  he  would  have  given  this  testimony  at  the  inquest. 
He  sold  the  pistol  to  your  brawler  Jarvis,  only  the  day  before 
the  murder.  He  has  seen  and  identified  it.  Some  months  ago 
he  bought  it  of  a  young  fellow  rather  hard  up  for  his  next 
meal,  and  it  was  lying  in  the  shop-window  with  a  lot  of  other 
traps.  He  remembered  the  letter  '  H. ' " 

Victor  raised  his  awe-stricken  face.     "  I  see,"  he  said,  in  a 


344  With  Fate  against  Him. 

slow,  husky  tone,  for  the  words  well-nigh  strangled  him. 
"  The  shot  was  meant  for  me  !" 

And  then  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  What  strange 
power  had  intervened  ?  Who  only  but  God,  meting  out  the 
punishment  to  some  farther  back  sin  could  have  turned  aside 
the  fatal  messenger.  Why  should  Eustace  Gilliat  have  been 
taken,  and  he  left  ? 

For  up  to  this  moment  he  had  believed  it  some  unseen 
enemy  of  Gilliat's. 

Trewartha  came  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  yonng  man's 
shoulder. 

"After  all,  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  it;  and  if  report 
speaks  truly,  his  life  was  not  likely  to  be  much  of  an  honor 
to  any  one." 

"But  I  can  never  forget  that  his  life  has  been  given  for 
mine. " 

"  Not  willingly  ;"  with  a  short,  abrupt  laugh. 

The  deeper  and  more  solemn  significance  to  him  Trewartha 
would  never  know.  But  when  at  length  he  raised  his  face, 
there  was  a  new  and  solemn  expression  in  it  that  no  years 
would  ever  be  able  to  obliterate. 

"  So  I  placed  the  matter  in  the  hands  of  an  officer  immedi 
ately,  and  a  warrant  for  Jarvis  will  be  taken  out  at  once.  I 
think  by  noon  bail  can  be  arranged,  and  you  will  have  com 
parative  freedom.  I  shall  be  glad,  for  your  father  is  fretting 
sorely. " 

Ah,  he  should  never  question  that  love  again. 

"  Do  what  is  best,"  he  answered  quietly. 

But  Trewartha  could  not  take  it  so  calmly.  He  had  already 
stirred  up  half  of  Taunton,  and  now,  if  possible,  there  was 
more  excitement  than  before.  Jarvis  had  been  hanging  round 
the  quarry  on  the  .day  of  the  murder,  considerably  intoxicated, 
and  had  been  heard  to  utter  threats  then,  as  well  as  several 
times  before.  When  the  matter  came  to  be  thoroughly  sifted, 
there  was  enough  suspicion  to  justify  his  arrest. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  346 

Janet  McRae  was  all  warmth  and  eagerness  when  she  heard 
the  tidings. 

"Use  every  effort,"  she  said  to  Trewartha.  "Spare  no 
money  nor  pains." 

Then  her  horses  were  ordered  and  she  drove  over  to  Taun- 
ton,  gaining  her  point  at  length,  for  she  brought  Victor  home 
to  his  mother. 

"Take  him  back,"  she  cried.  " Heaven  knows  he  is  worth 
all  this  and  more.  And  if  the  testimony  I  gave  went  against 
you,  it  tore  my  own  soul  to  utter  it.  I  would  have  cut  off  my 
right  hand  sooner." 

He  clasped  the  hand  in  his,  and  bowing  reverently,  kissed  it. 

"  I  owe  you  a  debt  that  can  never  be  repaid,"  he  returned 
brokenly. 

' '  No,  no  ;"  turning  her  head  away  and  speaking  loudly. 

Then  the  mother  and  son  were  left  alone.  He  placed  his 
arm  around  her  neck  and  drew  the  weary  head  to  his  broad 
shoulder. 

"It  is  God's  hand.  I  have  been  a  blind,  insensate  stone; 
nay  worse,  a  doubter,  a  mocker.  But  last  night  I  was  alone 
with  Him !  And  when  a  man  comes  face  to  face  with  this 
strong  arm  he  calls  fate — " 

"There  is  no  such  thing.  It  is  God  working  in  all  and 
through  all,  resolving  the  tangles  we  make  of  our  lives  in  our 
blind  way.  Our  human  wisdom  is  foolishness." 

He  knew  it  then.  He  had  cried  out  and  kicked  against 
the  rough  stones  in  his  way,  but  not  one  had  been  placed  there 
without  a  purpose,  since  through  it  all  he  had  been  led  to  see 
more  clearly.  Not  that  the  old  shame  would  be  lifted,  but 
made  to  serve  a  wise  purpose  in  some  way  yet  to  be  revealed. 
For  humanity  itself  was  growing  to  be  a  so  much  larger  thing 
in  his  mind.  When  he  saw  how  every  simple  act  affected 
some  other  being  for  weal  or  woe,  he  understood  how  neces 
sary  it  was  to  keep  the  springs  of  the  soul  pure  and  true,  to 
save  one  man  from  the  mire  and  foulness  all  around,  if  he 


346  With  Fate  against  Him. 

could  do  no  more.  It  was  not  wealth  or  culture  or  ease 
and  leisure  that  redeemed  souls,  although  these  helped,  and 
his  eyes  were  too  clear  now  to  rush  to  the  other  extreme  and 
undervalue  them;  but  they  were  not  all.  Back  in  the  shop  the 
men's  coarseness  and  vile  breath  had  annoyed  him,  yet  he 
doubted  if  their  sins  were  worse  in  God's  sight  than  that  of 
the  refined  and  fastidious  Kirke  Gilliat. 

You  will  see  that  the  old  spirit  of  self-aggrandizement  was 
falling  off,  like  the  dry,  useless  leaves  that  enclose  the  fruit- 
bud.  They  were  needed  once,  for  there  is  no  purely  useless 
thing  in.  the  economy  of  nature  ;  and  as  a  man's  soul  must 
be  brave  and  earnest  and  helpful  within  before  it  can  work 
profitably  without,  when  it  comes  to  blossom  the  unsightly 
husk  may  wither  and  drop — it  is  not  needed.  He  felt  now  that 
there  was  a  wider  work  in  the  world  than  that  for  one's 
own  self. 

' '  Yes, "  glancing  out  to  the  barred  sky  of  sapphire  where 
the  coming  night  brooded  with  infinite  tenderness.  "He" 
nodding  to  the  adjoining  room,  "held  the  key  to  the  mystery. 
I  don't  know  whether  God  called  him  to  give  up  his  life  and 
all,  but  to-night  I  would  rather  have  his  work,  even  to  the 
poor,  feeble  souls  which  he  has  helped  redeem,  than  anything 
Kirke  Gilliat  has  done." 

She  came  and  looked  into  his  eyes,  kissed  him  on  the  lips 
with  speechless  love,  like  a  blessing  after  long  waiting. 

"Not  that  I  have  come  to  that  height  where  I  can  forgive 
him.  We  make  our  greatest  mistakes  in  fancying  that  we  can 
change  the  current  of  our  natures  in  a  few  hours,  when  instead, 
it  is  a  lifelong  work." 

"And  we  find  the  old  evils  that  we  have  imagined  conquered 
coming  back  from  the  graves  where  we  laid  them.  It  is  a  war 
fare  all  along  the  way.  The  promise  is — 'to  him  that  over- 
cometh.'  " 

To  him  that  overcometh  evil.  Not  to  him  who  wins  the 
glories  of  this  world — fame,  wealth,  position,  and  honor  alone. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  347 

There  was  a  better,  broader  sphere,  the  deep  mystery  of  things 
unseen,  that  might  gain  neither  reward  nor  simple  justice  in' 
this  life  ;  but  they  were  God's  immutable  laws,  nevertheless,  and 
on  the  other  side  of  the  sapphire  sky  He  took  these  things  into 
His  own  hands. 

Trewartha  worked  indefatigably.  In  less  than  a  fortnight 
Jarvis  had  been  found,  concealed  in  a  low  den.  When  the 
braggadocio  of  liquor  had  been  strong  upon  him,  he  had 
weakly  made  some  damaging  boasts.  One  circumstance  after 
another,  trivial  in  itself,  came  to  light,  and  began  to  form  a 
conclusive  chain  of  evidence.  Public  opinion  swayed  at  once, 
and  Victor  became  a  sort  of  hero,  partly  on  account  of  his  re 
markable  escape  from  a  doom  planned  for  him. 

Another  peculiar  circumstance  occurred,  which  brought  with 
it  a  keen  surprise  and  pleasure — the  sudden  reappearance  of 
Paul  Latour,  who  had  been  searching  vainly  for  his  friend, 
and  on  the  first  tidings  of  his  danger  had  found  his  way  to 
Cragness.  From  him  Trewartha  and  Milnor  heard  the  episode 
at  Bohmerwald,  which  exonerated  Victor  completely. 

With  this  array  of  evidence  before  the  grand  jury,  the  indict 
ment  was  changed,  and  Victor  Hurst  honorably  cleared  from 
the  slightest  suspicion. 

Milnor  hastened  to  Rothermel  with  the  tidings ;  his  sympa 
thies  warmly  enlisted  in  the  young  man's  behalf. 

"  I  regret  nothing  so  much  as  that  I  did  not  make  a  stronger 
effort  to  see  him  when  Miss  Lowndes  wished  me  to.  With  all 
her  shallow  assumption  she  was  right  enough  here." 

"You  think  him — talented,  then  ?" 

The  voice  had  a  curiously  hollow  sound,  and  the  hand  on 
which  Kirke  Giiliat  rested  his  face  trembled  visibly. 

"  They  are  peculiar  people — all  these  Hursts.  The  mother 
has  a  quiet  strength  in  her  soft,  sad  eyes,  and  she  worships  her 
son  passionately.  I  don't  know  what  the  father  has  been,  for 
he  is  a  paralytic  now,  and  his  brain  has  not  escaped  ;  but  the 
son's  devotion  to  him,  to  them  both,  is  remarkable.  A  strong, 


348  With  Fate  against  Hint. 

handsome  youth,  with  a  fine,  rare  soul,  hitherto  little  under 
stood  ;  but  he  is  in  the  right  place  now.  My  lifelong  regret 
will  be  that  I  did  not  give  him  a  helping  hand  in  his  hour  of 
need." 

' '  He  has  genius,  then  ?" 

"That  was  where  I  stumbled.  I  was  right  in  saying  that  he 
would  never  make  a  painter,  but  he  has  been  exercising  his 
talent  in  marble-cutting,  and  produced  a  bust  of  Sylvia  Red 
mond  which  is  really  wonderful.  I  think  with  ten  years  of  study 
and  practice  he  might  immortalize  himself." 

Would  it  be  too  late  to  claim  him,  presently,  to  lavish  upon 
him  the  gifts  of  Rothermel  ?  Rather  it  would  be  the  proper 
atonement  for  all  this  early  neglect  and  wrong. 

"  You  have  not  described  him,  yet  you  rouse  me  to  a  strange 
interest, " 

Milnor  v/as  softly  pacing  the  antique  room,  with  its  painted 
panels  and  dark  wainscoting,  its  diamonded  windows  with  the 
light  flickering  quaintly  through  the  small  panes,  the  tall  library 
across  one  end,  and  the  family  portraits  ranged  at  even  spaces 
down  the  sides. 

"There  is  something  odd  about  the  face  that  haunts  me, 
as  if  I  must  have  seen  it  before.  Strong,  resolute,  handsome, 
with  a  blending  of  Greek  and  Saxon  and  a  peculiar  tawny  tint 
of  hair.  Fiery,  forceful,  yet  tempered  with  an  inward  grace." 

"Well,"  impatiently,  when  the  pause  had  been  very  long, 
and  the  measured  steps  ceased. 

"  He  looks  as  if  he  might  have  kinship  with  your  mother, 
Gilliat  Yes,  that  must  be  it.  What  a  strange  resemblance  !" 
glancing  at  the  portrait. 

Kirke  Gilliat  said  no  more.  His  mother  had  been  a  queen 
among  women,  too  early  lost  for  him.  If  this  Victor  Hurst 
possessed  half  her  nobleness  ! 

He  rose  and  tottered  to  the  door.  If,  when  the  choice  had 
been  his — to  have  a  son  who  would  love  and  honor  him  in 
his  old  age,  a  son  of  whom  he  could  be  proud — .  The  old 


With  Fate  against  Him.  349 

curse  coming  home.  The  mill  grinding  slowly  but — "  exceed 
ing  small." 

In  her  stately,  elegant  room  lay  Beatrice  Gilliat.  The  shock 
of  her  son's  death  had  been  severe,  not  cutting  her  off  suddenly, 
as  Trewartha  feared,  but  sapping  the  springs  of  life.  She  was 
nearly  helpless  now.  The  sharp  terror  had  sent  the  blood 
in  masses  to  her  brain,  slowly  dulling  every  faculty,  sight, 
hearing,  speech,  and  at  intervals  thought. 

But  in  some  moments  there  came  pangs  of  fierce  agony.  A 
vision  of  Hugh  Gilliat,  and  her  pitiless  watching,  her  aims  and 
plans  and  patience.  She  had  gained  her  wish,  been  Kirke 
Gilliat 's  wife,  and  mistress  of  Rothermel. 

And  here  at  middle  age,  with  her  beauty  hardly  impaired, 
she  was  dying  by  inches.  Other  women  lived  to  a  happy  old 
age,  saw  their  sons  and  daughters  growing  up  around  them, 
and  had  grandchildren  to  prattle  at  their  knee.  Other  women 
were  loved  and  caressed,  but  save  for  a  brief  year's  infatuation 
there  had  been  little  of  this  in  her  life.  And  now  Kirke 
Gilliat  brooded  over  his  dead  son  continually,  she  saw  the 
far,  awesome  light  in  his  eyes  when  he  looked  at  her.  Had 
she  come  between  him  and  some  cherished  hope  ? 

Well  for  her  that  she  was  never  to  know.  He  would  be 
kind,  attentive,  solicitous  to  the  very  last ;  but  in  the  depths  of 
his  heart  there  would  be  a  corner  where  her  beauty  and  im 
perious  grace  had  never  penetrated.  After  all,  had  she  not 
reaped  as  she  had  sown  ?  For  to  the  world's  end  the  old  law 
will  hold  good — the  purple  bloom  of  thistle  will  not  turn  into 
the  purple  bloom  and  fragrance  of  grapes. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

EVENTFUL  as  the  winter  was  at  Cragness,  it  appeared  to 
pass  very  quietly.  A  mild,  rather  open  season,  leaving  but 
a  few  weeks  in  which  the  click  of  hammers  and  picks,  and  the 
rumble  of  blasting  might  not  be  heard  at  the  quarry.  Every 
thing  worked  favorably,  and  Victor  found  that  he  should 
finish  his  contract  in  a  much  shorter  time  than  he  antici 
pated-. 

The  trial  had  come  and  gone.  The  one  positive  link  was 
supplied  by  the  confession  of  the  now  abject  Jarvis,  who, 
like  the  coward  he  was,  begged  piteously  for  his  life.  The 
fatal  shot  had  been  meant  for  Victor  Hurst.  How  it  had 
gone  so  wide  of  its  mark  could  only  be  accounted  for  by  the 
fact  of  the  man  being  grossly  intoxicated. 

"  I  cannot  wonder  that  father's  soul  was  so  moved  against 
intemperance,"  Victor  said,  solemnly.  "It  has  been  the  cause 
of  this  misfortune  from  first  to  last." 

So  the  verdict  was  manslaughter.  Mr.  Milnor  tried  to  keep 
Eustace  Gilliat's  story  as  far  in  the  background  as  possible. 
Then  the  excitement  died  away,  and  there  was  no  change  save 
that  Victor  had  gained  warm,  appreciative  friends. 

There  was  no  need  of  stolen,  secret  work.  A  room  in 
the  little  cottage  was  arranged  for  Victor's  use— his  mother 
would  have  it  so.  She  filled  one  window  with  flowers,  and 
Trewartha  brought  some  choice  pictures.  Mr.  Milnor  dropped 
in  and  watched  the  young  man  at  his  self-taught  labor,  guided 
by  the  finer  impulses  of  soul  and  brain.  Paul  had  a  corner 
where  he  sat  and  played  on  his  violin  and  worshipped  his 
young  friend.  Drifting  farther  apart  in  purpose,  they  were  still 


With  Fate  against  Him.  361 

brought  nearer  together  by  the  tie  of  a  peculiar  and  romantic 
friendship. 

Victor  used  to  carry  his  father  thither  and  place  him  on  the 
wide  lounge  with  the  cushions  all  about.  Day  by  day  he  grew 
weaker,  gentler.  He  loved  to  listen  to  the  weird,  impassioned 
melody  evoked  by  Paul,  and  to  watch  Victor's  strong  white 
fingers  as  some  thought  slowly  budded  and  blossomed  beneath 
them. 

Trewartha  was  a  welcome  guest  to  all,  as  well  as  Janet  Mc- 
Rae,  who  often  lingered,  studying  the  group,  and  especially 
the  young  man,  so  strong  in  himself  that  he  could  disdain  her 
gifts. 

"I  don't  know  why  I  should  care  so  much  for  him,  Tre 
wartha,"  she  would  exclaim,  almost  angrily.  "I  cannot  say 
that  he  is  ungrateful,  either ;  but  there  is  something  about 
him  that  is  hard  to  understand." 

Trewartha  thought  so,  as  well.  It  was  not  merely  the  pride 
of  being  a  self-made  man,  nor  a  shallow  disdain  of  the  assist 
ance  wealth  could  give.  An  underlying  motive  that  time  only 
could  fathom  and  he  had  no  better  advice  than  the  patience 
he  used  to  recommend  daily  to  himself. 

There  was  one  who  never  came  ;  but  perhaps  she  was  the 
more  in  Victor's  thoughts.  He  worked  at  this  particular  bit  of 
marble  only  when  he  was  alone.  Now  and  then  Trewartha 
would  spy  some  improvement — an  added  grace,  a  fine  touch. 

Sylvia  Redmond  had  gone  from  her  father's  grave  to  St. 
Albans.  At  first  her  mother  received  her  ungraciously  ;  but 
the  child's  voice  was  tenderer  than  that  of  the  nurse,  her  touch 
more  gentle,  her  patience  of  a  rarer  quality.  Not  until  arrange 
ments  were  made  for  closing  the  house  would  she  consent  to 
be  removed,  and  then  Rachel  Braisted  insisted  upon  it. 

Sylvia  took  her  post  beside  the  querulous  invalid, — a  weak, 
restless,  dissatisfied  woman,  whose  trials  had  been  sorer,  whose 
misfortunes  had  been  greater,  and  whose  nerves  were  more 
finely  sensitive  than  those  of  any  other  human  being.  Full  of 


352  With  Fate  against  Him. 

petty  tyrannies  and  exactions,  quick  to  remark  and  distort  the 
least  change  of  voice  or  manner,  and  brooding  continually 
over  her  own  pains  and  woes,  Sylvia  had  no  light  task  to 
soothe  or  comfort.  The  frivolous  mind  possessed  no  resources 
within  itself,  now  that  worldly  gayeties  were  at  an  end.  These 
grave,  gentle  women,  full  of  almsgiving  and  good  deeds,  were 
exceedingly  tiresome  to  her,  and  the  world  outside  found  little 
to  charm  in  the  faded,  weak-souled  being.  Doctor  Trewartha 
alone  was  welcome,  and  even  then,  if  he  talked  a  moment  too 
long  with  Sylvia,  the  grace  of  the  visit  was  dimmed. 

What  Sylvia  endured,  the  God  who  gave  her  courage  and 
patience  alone  knew.  She  grew  thin  and  worn,  and  deep 
shadows  settled  under  the  eyes  that  had  once  held  a  child's 
glad,  eager  hope. 

Two  or  three  times  through  the  course  of  the  winter  Tre 
wartha  had  persuaded  her  into  a  brief  drive,  but  she  would 
call  nowhere. 

" Have  you  ceased  to  care  for  your  old  friends?"  he  asked 
one  day.  "You  positively  shun  Mrs.  McRae  and  Ruth." 

"  It  is  best  that  I  should  keep  to  my  duty  only,"  in  her  sad, 
quiet  voice. 

"But  if  your  physical  strength  should  get  exhausted  too 
soon  ?"  with  a  look  of  intense  anxiety. 

"It  will  not.  Do  not  feel  troubled  about  me,  dear 
friend." 

She  listened  when  he  spoke  of  Victor,  but  asked  no  ques 
tions.  It  seemed  quite  impossible  to  rouse  her  to  any  warm, 
human  interest ;  and  Trewartha  had  a  wild  fear  that  her 
mother's  death  would  snap  the  frail  chords  that  bound  her  to 
earth. 

The  blow  was  mercifully  sudden.  Mrs.  Redmond  would 
hear  nothing  of  death,  and  seemed  to  shrink  from  it  with  a 
peculiar  horror.  It  was  well,  therefore,  that  the  closing  pang 
should  be  brief. 

They  laid  her  beside  her  husband  one  dull,  lowering  Feb- 


With  Fate  against  Him.  363 

ruary  cKv,  as  if  in  keeping  with  the  shady  part  of  her  life,  now 
gone  up  to  be  judged  of  God. 

Sylvia  was  unnaturally  grave  and  composed,  and  rode  back 
with  her  cousins.  But  Trewartha  followed  her  to  the  sitting- 
room  before  she  could  divest  herself  of  her  wrappings. 

"I  am  to  be  master,  now,"  and  an  under-current  of  power 
that  she  had  no  strength  to  resist  floated  in  with  the  words 
from  his  strong,  tender  tone.  "You  need  a  change,  or  I  will 
not  answer  for  your  life." 

' '  Does  it  matter  much  ?"  in  her  weary  manner. 

"I  think  it  does.   Miss  Rachel,  you  will  trust  me,  I  know." 

He  carried  her  down  to  his  own  light  wagon  that  stood  at 
the  gate,  and  wrapped  her  well  with  the  robes.  Then  touch 
ing  the  coal-black  horses,  they  were  off  like  the  wind.  Sylvia 
was  forced  to  gasp  for  breath  ;  and  the  exertion  brought  a  tint 
of  color  to  her  pale  lips,  though  the  white  face  looked  very 
wan  and  tired. 

He  paused  at  length  at  Cragness.  She  would  fain  have 
resisted,  but  he  lifted  her  out,  led  her  up  the  broad  steps  with 
his  strong  arm  around  her,  the  small  feet  barely  touching 
the  ground. 

"Friend  Janet,"  he  exclaimed,  "here  is  a  work  and  a 
duty — to  bring  this  bit  of  marble  back  to  the  rosy  flesh  and 
blood  we  found  here  a  year  ago. " 

Only  a  year  !     Sylvia  shivered.     It  seemed  ten  at  least. 

Ruth  came  over,  her  slow-moving  eyes  full  of  tender  pity, 
and  began  to  unfasten  the  wraps  as  if  Sylvia  had  been  a 
baby. 

' '  You  will  care  for  her  tenderly.'' 

If  he  had  asked  Ruth  Gamier  to  walk  to  the  mouth  of  a 
fiery,  burning  crater,  she  would  have  obeyed. 

"Child,  there  has  been  many  a  sad  hour  in  the  year,"  and 
Janet  McRae  drew  her  down  to  the  ample  lap,  and  pressed  hei 
to  the  beating  heart  still  firm  and  strong;  "but,  please  God, 
there  will  be  sunshine  again." 


364  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"Never  for  me,"  the  aching  heart  cried  inwardly. 

The  change  did  not  come  a  moment  too  soon.  •  For  a 
week  Sylvia  wavered,  lying  on  the  sofa  most  of  the  time, 
brightening  only  through  Trewartha's  visits. 

Ruth  watched  them  with  a  peculiar  fascination.  Why  had 
she  felt  so  much  more  satisfied  and  at  ease  when  she  heard 
that  Sylvia  was  to  marry  Eustace  Gilliat  ?  What  pain  was  this 
running  through  her  pulses  like  a  bit  of  fie ry,  jagged  light 
ning  ? 

And  as  Sylvia  gained  she  began  to  lose.  For  presently  a 
gleam  of  health  shone  in  the  eyes,  and  the  hollow  cheeks 
began  to  round  to  their  olden -contour.  The  little  hands  no 
longer  shook  like  a  stray  leaf  in  the  autumn  blast,  but  had  a 
firm,  warm  clasp  of  their  own.  And  hers  were  always  cold 
now,  save  for  these  fitful  flashes. 

She  tried  to  think  how  it  would  be.  Especially  one  day, 
•when  Doctor  Trewartha  took  them  both  over  to  the  Cedars  to 
lunch.  She  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table  after  a  little  demur,  but 
it  was  to  Sylvia  he  talked,  and  Sylvia  who  gave  back  sweet, 
dainty,  answering  smiles.  What  was  it  that  made  women  loved 
so  easily, — that  thrust  the  less  fortunate  ones  aside? 

Sylvia  ran  over  the  house  and  exhumed  mines  of  treasures, 
questioned,  teased,  thereby  giving  out  glimpses  of  her  olden 
self.  Was  it  because  she  was  tired  that  she  should  pause 
presently  before  the  wide  grate,  and  slip  into  a  great  cushioned 
chair,  where  Trewartha  found  her,  with  her  eyes  shut  but  not 
asleep,  the  firelight  crowning  her  drooping  head  ? 

The  fitful  March  day  had  vibrated  from  gusts  to  sunshine. 
Now  a  flurry  of  snow  thickened  the  air  and  made  a  kind  of 
hoar  twilight. 

Trewartha  went  in  search  of  Ruth,  who  was  standing  alone 
by  the  great  basin  of  lilies,  herself  as  white  as  they,  save  the 
crown  of  dusky  hair. 

"Come,"  he  said. 

She  turned  with  a  sharp  pain.     Would  they  not  let  her  have 


With  Fate  against  Him.  355 

a  moment  in  which  she  could  escape  from  the  vivid  picture  of 
their  love  and  happiness?  And  then  she  shook  her  head. 

"  Go  to  Sylvia,"  she  cried,  with  sudden  heat  and  emphasis. 

"Sylvia  is  resting,  curled  Up  in  a  great  chair  like  a  kitten. 
Will  you  come  and  look  at  her  ?" 

He  reached  over  for  her  hand.  It  was  cold  and  passive,  and 
the  lips  trembled. 

"  I  will  not  disturb  her,"  she  said.     "Go  yourself." 

He  laughed  low  and  provokingly,  reading  what  she  thought 
so  securely  hidden. 

"Why  are  your  hands  so  cold?  And  why  are  you  pale 
and  grave?  Has  the  winter  taken  away  your  warmth  and 
bloom  ?" 

"You  hurt  me!"  as  his  clasp  tightened.  "I  came  here 
to  be  alone,  to  think — " 

"And  of  what  avail  is  the  endless  thinking?  Does  it 
bring  you  any  nearer  the  great  truth  ?  Why  do  you  not  open 
the  eyes  of  your  soul,  of  your  spirit  ?" 

"Because — I  was  born  blind  !"  passionately. 

"  No,  you  were  not.  No  woman  ever  is  until  she  makes 
some  black,  wilful  blindness  for  herself.  Look  up  at  me,  Ruth. 
Can  you  read  any  secret  in  my  face  ?" 

A  faint  color  stirred  in  ,hers  and  the  lips  trembled.  Then 
some  power  stronger  than  herself  shook  her  very  soul  and 
forced  her  to  speak  over  a  great  pang. 

"I  think  you  love  Sylvia  Redmond  ?" 

"Yes,  I  love  her  ;"  and  he  smiled  in  his  peculiar,  wayward 
fashion.  "  I  love  her  as  one  loves  a  child.  I  should  like  to  be 
her  father,  Ruth,  and  have  a  right  to  order  all  her  pretty  ways  ; 
to  chide  when  she  was  too  grave,  as  she  often  is  now ;  to  have 
a  brave  young  lover  come,  whose  sjnile  would  bring  roses  to 
her  cheeks ;  to  give  her  a  wedding-breakfast  in  this  old  hall, 
and  to  keep  her  still,  to  see  her  children  playing  around  my 
knees,  and  to  kiss  their  soft,  warm  faces.  Yet  it  may  never 
happen." 


356  With  Fate  against  Him. 

Her  eyes  opened  wide  with  an  intent,  startled  light. 

' '  And  you  read  nothing  else  ?" 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  cried,  as  a  quick  pain  pierced  her  very 
soul. 

' '  Why  ?  Am  I  so  distasteful  ?  Ruth,  you  are  jealous  of 
Sylvia." 

"I  jealous  !"  in  a  hard,  hollow,  incredulous  tone,  the  lines 
about  the  mouth  growing  rrgid,  and  the  eyes  downcast. 

"Yes.  Child,  are  you  blind?  Can  you  not  see  that  I  love 
you,  you?' 

"No,  I  will  not  come  between.  She  is  sweet  and  fond.  She 
loves  you,"  with  a  strange,  pathetic  cry  that  moved  his  whole 
soul. 

"So,  the  lesson  is  all  to  learn.  Janet  McRae  taught  you  as 
much  as  one  woman  can  teach  another  :  the  rest  is  a  man's 
province.  Listen,  Ruth,  I  am  twice  your  age.  In  the  hot, 
impatient  days  of  youth,  I  had  one  mad  passion-dream  that 
burned  to  ashes  before  the  woman  lay  cold  in  her  grave.  Yet 
if  she  had  been  true — if  she  had  loved  me  !  Will  you  dare  to 
bridge  over  that  broken  path  ?  I  am  wiser,  more  patient,  yet 
the  boy's  folly  is  not  all  gone.  My  soul  obeys  the  universal 
law,  but  forgive  if  it  demands  the  best.  The  night  Mrs. 
McRae  brought  Victor  Hurst  home,  I  knew  that  I  loved  you. 
Have  I  not  waited  long  enough  ?" 

"Oh,"  she  said,  abashed  and  distressed,  "I  have  no  right ; 
for  she — " 

"  Yes  ;  I  knew  her  plans.  I  said,  if  this  woman  can  love 
another,  I  will  stand  back.  He  is  younger,  fresher,  and  it  is 
my  friend's  wish.  But  you  could  not — " 

"  No,  I  could  not ;"  with  a  shiver.  "And  I  think  he  never 
loved  me.  If  I  am  slow  and  grave  and  passionless — " 

' '  My  darling,  hearts  respond  only  to  the  touch  which  rouses 
them.  There  is  much  yet  to  learn.  May  I  be  your  teacher?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  slowly  and  he  read  assent 

Sylvia  came  to  find  them  long  afterward. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  357 

"It  is  growing  dusk,"  she  said.  " I  fell  asleep  there  by  the 
fire  and  had  a  delicious  rest.  But  we  must  go  home." 

Ruth  stooped  and  kissed  Sylvia  with  sudden  fervor. 

Once  at  Cragness,  he  sent  his  horses  to  the  stable.  While 
the  girls  went  to  smoolhe  their  ruffled  plumes,  he  sought  Mrs. 
McRae. 

' '  Frank  Trewartha,  I  have  a  scolding  ready  for  you.  Does 
lunch  at  the  Cedars  last  all  day?"  and  she  glanced  sharply  at 
him. 

"Mother  Janet,  be  merciful  to  your  son,  who  henceforward 
will  do  his  best  to  please  you,  and  who  entreats  you  for  Ruth. 
Bid  him  God  speed,  for  he  only  holds  the  key  of  her  soul.  It 
is  not  what  you  planned." 

"  No.  My  plans  are  fine  failures,"  in  a  tone  of  asperity  that 
showed  she  still  felt  a  pang  of  disappointment.  "I  have 
trained  human  bodies,  but  shall  never  meddle  with  a  human 
soul  again.  Go  your  way.  Love  and  marry.  I  am  a  lonely 
old  woman,  with  no  birdling  in  the  nest." 

But  she  smiled  that  night  when  she  saw  them  together,  while 
her  heart  yearned  over  Sylvia. 

March  softened  into  showery  April,  and  May  laughed  at  them 
both  with  her  bosom  full  of  blossoms.  The  old  story  of  life 
and  death  and  change  went  on,  and  brought  to  Victor  Hurst 
the  freedom  that  he  had  once  so  coveted.  For  John  Hurst  fell 
asleep  calmly,  trusting  in  the  God  whom  he  had  served  in  his 
honest,  earnest  way,  according  to  the  light  vouchsafed.  What 
life  is  exempt  from  mistakes  and  failures  ?  Well  for  us  that 
God  gathers  up  the  fragments  and  shapes  them  anew  in  the 
likeness  of  Himself  and  His  glorified  Son. 

A  sweet,  tranquil  death.  Anah  Hurst  would  always  remem 
ber  it.  Not  one  pang  did  she  care  to  have  taken  back — not  one 
of  the  many  trials. 

One  night,  late  in  May,  Victor  found  Sylvia  in  the  old 
churchyard  and  walked  home  with  her.  Both  were  strangely 
silent  at  first.  She  was  thinking  of  what  she  had  heard  that 


358  With  Fate  against  Him. 

day.  The  quarry  contract  was  completed,  and  another  had 
been  offered.  But  Janet  McRae  had  gone  down  to  the  cottage 
and  said  her  say  to  Victor  Hurst  and  his  mother,  command 
ing  them  to  think  the  matter  well  over  before  they  answered 
her. 

"He  will  not  consent,"  she  declared  to  Trewartha;  "I 
saw  it  in  his  eyes.  Something  that  we  shall  never  know  holds 
him.  But  I  can  do  no  more,  no  more.  If  I  must  sit  alone 
at  last  by  my  fireside,  so  let  it  be.  If  the  work  of  my  whole 
life  crumbles  to  ashes,  I  cannot  help  nor  hinder.  Why  should 
I  have  been  led  to  love  the  lad  so  well  only  to  know  a  more 
bitter  desolation  at  the  last  ?  Is  it  some  punishment  for  my 
pride  and  vain-glory  ?" 

This  was  fresh  in  Sylvia's  mind.  Her  own  passionate  grief 
she  scarcely  remembered.  She  had  never  dared  to  love  as 
Ruth,  and  other  happier  women,  and  yet  she  knew  well  that 
this  man  held  all  the  rose-color  of  her  otherwise  neutral-tinted 
life.  She  had  known  so  much  sorrow,  so  little  real  joy. 

And  yet  now  she  pitied  Mrs.  McRae  profoundly.  The  lone 
liness  appeared  tenfold  more  painful  to  her.  Why  could  he 
not  consent  and  stay  ? 

Here  was  the  great  house  looming  before  them.  He 
might  be  master  of  it  with  a  word.  Yet,  if  he  were  a  wanderer, 
an  exile,  a  criminal  even,  her  heart  would  always  yearn  toward 
him. 

They  came  to  the  gate.  "Will  you  not  walk  in?"  she  asked, 
in  a  half-hesitating,  half-entreating  way. 

"  I  think  not.     It  is  best  not ;"  as  if  to  assure  himself. 

"  You  have  decided  to  go  away  ?" 

Something  in  her  soft  tone  stirred  him  strangely,  an  uncom 
plaining  pathos,  a  lingering  regret.  Would  she  care  ? 

"If  I  went  I  should  be  soon  forgotten.     Yes,  it  is  best." 

"No,  you  would  not  be  forgotten ;"  in  an  assured  tone,  that 
moved  him  again.  Why  did  he  feel  so  weak  and  uncertain 
here  with  her  ? 


With  Fate  against  Him.  359 

"I  suppose,  being  a  man,  the  prospect  is  templing.  And  to 
work  one's  way  up  to  greatness,  to  win  honor  and  fame — " 

"  I  used  to  think  a  great  deal  of  that,"  quietly.  "1  was  am 
bitious.  I  wanted  to  do  something  above  the  common  level, 
to  win  a  position  equal  to — " 

He  paused.  Eustace  Gilliat  in  his  grave,  or  the  little  girl 
by  his  side  ?  for  both  had  roused  his  ambition. 

' '  As  you  will. "    There  was  a  sad  despair  in  her  tone. 

"  I  have  come  to  look  differently  at  life.  A  man  may  carve 
his  soul  into  a  statue,  or  write  it  through  the  measure  of  some 
glowing  poem,  yet  he  is  not  a  better  man  because  the  world 
recognizes  the  fact  and  praises  him.  When  we  think  of  this 
little  life,  with  its  silver  clasp  of  four  score  and  ten  years,  and  the 
greater  one  stretching  out  beyond,  where  God  judges,  and  not 
the  narrow  vision  of  man,  one  needs  to  have  something  more 
than  leaves — the  well-ripened  grain.  God  may  require  our 
brother's  soul  at  our  hands." 

"Yes.     The  work  with  the  higher,  spiritual  significance." 

"So  I  have  learned  to  think  of  others  as  well  as  myself.  I 
do  not  want  all  pure  personal  aims." 

"Think  of  her  !"  Sylvia  exclaimed,  with  a  choking  throb  in 
her  throat.  "  And  the  duties  here — " 

He  turned,  glancing  abstractedly  to  the  pale  gleam  where  the 
young  moon  was  coming  up.  Were  there  any  duties  here  for 
him  ?  Was  it  not  rather  a  chimera  of  these  women's  brains  ? 
If  the  great  law  and  power  that  he  had  called  fate  all  his  life 
was  not  working  so  strong  and  positive  against  him — 

Between  his  eyes  and  the  yellow  glow  yonder  he  saw  Sylvia 
Redmond's  face.  The  child-woman  that  he  should  always 
love,  who  in  the  long  years  to  come  would  grow  slowly  into 
angelic  ideality.  From  Trewartha  he  had  heard  the  particulars 
of  her  brief  engagement,  and  perhaps  understood  better  than 
the  Doctor  himself  how  she  had  drifted  into  it.  Her  own  pure 
self-denying  life  had  begun  with  tenderest  truth  and  courage  at 
her  dying  father's  bedside,  and  he  freely  pardoned  the  mistakes 


360  With  Fate  against  Him. 

of  the  past,  holding  no  grudge  against  any  moment  of  weak 
ness.  Had  he  any  part  and  lot  in  her  life,  as  she  had  in  his  ? 
Would  he  not  owe  her  some  explanation,  as  well  as  Mrs.  Mc- 
Rae,  for  the  great  wrench  of  final  separation  ? 

He  came  nearer,  he  took  her  cold,  limp  hand  that  began  to 
tremble  in  his  touch,  sending  fiery  thrills  through  his  veins. 
Yes,  he  loved  her,  loved  her  !  Was  she  so  far  distant  as  to  be 
quite  unapproachable  ? 

"Miss  Redmond — Sylvia — my  duty  here  has  been  exagger 
ated  in  ignorance.  You  know  the  old  story  of  the  bond 
woman  and  the  free  woman,  and  how  the  son  of  the  former 
became  an  outcast.  •  I  have  been  weakly  putting  off  some 
thing  due  to  Mrs.  McRae.  When  this  is  told  the  doors  of 
Cragness  will  be  opened  wide  before  me,  and  I  shall  have  the 
world  beyond  in  which  to  make  my  mark.  I  am  not  like  other 
men" — his  steely  eyes  deepening,  and  the  scarlet  lip  in  a 
quiver.  "Some  men  have  to  bear  about  with  them  the  result 
of  the  sins  of  others.  I  am  one." 

It  seemed  at  the  moment  as  if  she  would  have  fallen,  if  she 
had  not  clutched  his  arm  in  that  eager,  desperate  fashion. 

"  John  Hurst — "  she  faltered. 

"His  record  is  clear  and  noble.  It  is  my  mother  and  I 
who  must  suffer  for  a  cruel  and  bitter  falsehood.  While  he 
who  had  been  a  father  to  me  lived,  my  lips  were  sealed,  and 
now  I  have  been  cowardly  in  putting  off  the  evil  day.  There 
is  a  taint  in  my  blood  which  would  sully  Cragness  with  its 
honorable  ancestry.  Yet  why  should  I  delay  ?  Let  me  go  and 
have  it  ended. " 

He  opened  the  gate,  standing  aside  for  her  to  pass,  and 
strode  up  the  remainder  of  the  path.  She  dragged  herself 
along,  her  brain  in  a  strange  whirl,  dimly  guessing  at  the  awful 
pain  that  he  had  borne,  longing  to  comfort,  and  yet  dumb  with 
her  own  wordless  anguish  of  love. 

"I  doubt  if  I  ever  cross  this  threshold  again,"  he  com 
mented,  sharply. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  361 

"  I  shall  wait  for  you  here,"  she  said,  sitting  down  in  one 
of  the  great  carved  oaken  hall-chairs.  "  Nothing  can  make 
any  difference  to  a  man's  soul  but  his  own  sins." 

He  seized  her  hands  in  a  strange  transport  "  And  if  I 
were  an  outcast,  with  the  finger  of  honor  pointed  at  me  in  scorn, 
— if  I  had  to  make  a  new  name,  to  come  up  through  poverty 
and  toil,  and  perhaps  fail,  working  against  overpowering  odds, 
what  would  I  be  to  you  then  ?  nothing  ?" 

The  words  were  uttered  in  a  low,  hurried,  passionate  breath, 
and  by  the  light  he  glanced  at  her  pale  face. 

"You  will  still  be  Victor — my  king.  In  God's  world  the 
one  who  wins  is  crowned,  even  though  men  may  never  dis 
cover  the  royal  signet." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  hand  with  burning  lips,  then 
hurried  to  the  door  whose  portals  were  to  open  upon  his 
secret. 

Janet  McRae  sat  in  her  high-backed  chair,  with  no  light  in 
the  room,  save  the  ruddy  blaze  of  the  pine-logs  just  kindled. 
Her  face  looked  a  little  worn  and  perplexed,  he  thought. 

"  Have  you  brought  Sylvia  home  ?  You  would  never  come 
without  an  excuse,  I  fancy,"  she  said,  with  some  asperity.  "I 
saw  you  half  an  hour  ago  walking  down  the  road. " 

"I  brought  her  in — yes."  Then  he  paused,  walking 
straight  up  to  the  brilliant  firelight 

She  saw  something  in  his  face, — a  set  resolve  that  was  akin 
to  the  rigidity  of  death. 

"Forgive!"  and  her  tone  softened,  "I  am  a  cranky  old 
woman,  but  you  try  me,  Victor  Hurst,  you  try  me  1" 

With  that  she  came  and  stood  beside  him,  placed  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  and  endeavored  to  read  these  baffling  lines. 

"It  is  for  the  last  time  ;"  and  there  was  a  touch  of  solem 
nity  in  his  voi  -e.  "I  have  a  story  to  tell  you,  and  I  think 
afterward  you  ^ill  be  able  to  judge  me  more  clearly.  If  I  have 
been  weak  and  cowardly  in  thus  keeping  it  a  secret,  in  coming 
here  when  I  knew  that  I  must  one  day  be  confessed  other  than 


362  With  Fate  against  Him. 

I  appeared,  remember  in  extenuation  that  it  was  not  for  my 
own  sake.  God  gave  me  some  duties  to  another,  and  when  I 
began  to  see  them,  they  were  sacred  in  my  eyes." 

"  There  has  always  been  some  mystery  about  you.  How  far 
it  was  due  to  morbid  pride — " 

"I  fought  off  that  devil  1  No,  it  was  an  honest  question 
between  truth  and  silence.  While  I  could  not  speak  the  truth, 
I  compelled  myself  to  risk  being  misunderstood,  and  perhaps 
considered  ungrateful." 

She  held  up  her  hand  and  he  paused  in  his  justification. 

"You  have  been  nobly  generous.  I  think,  too,  that  you 
have  given  me  a  strange,  yearning  love.  I  have  felt  as  if  I 
could  be  your  very  servant  to  your  life's  end  ;  but  that  is  not 
what  you  want  Sonship  and  heirship  I  cannot  take, — the 
honor  of  this  long,  pu^e  line  is  not  for  me.  I  am  not  John 
Hurst's  son  !" 

"Not  John  Hurst's  son  !  Not  Anah  McRae's  child  1"  and 
her  eyes  seemed  to  pierce  his  very  soul. 

"Anah  McRae's  child — yes." 

Her  hand  dropped  from  his  shoulder,  and  a  mortal  paleness 
overspread  her  features.  He  crossed  his  arms  on  his  chest, 
and  stood  there  in  the  firelight  crowned  with  youth,  integrity, 
and  manly  beauty, — a  soul  replete  with  the  highest  capabilities. 
A  man  to  make  himself  respected,  honored,  loved. 

"Yes."  His  tone  was  low  but  strong  and  clear.  "I  must 
justify  my  mother.  For  a  brief  while  she  believed  herself 
legally  married  to  a  man  whose  simple  word  would  have  been 
a  bond  to  any  of  his  compeers.  God  knows  that  it  was  not 
her  fault  nor  mine  that  I  was  crowded  out  of  an  honorable 
birthright.  But  the  world  that  can  forgive  crimes  of  revenge 
and  dishonesty,  has  no  condonement  for  this.  Now  you  know 
why  I  could  not  accept  your  honors,  your  affection  even,  at  its 
full  value.  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  to  come  in  any  event,  but 
my  purpose  was  simply  to  work.  How  could  I  dream — ?" 

Janet  McRae  took  two  or  three  steps  and  sank  into  her  chair. 


With  Fate  against  Him.  363 

"Who  knows  this?"  she  demanded  fiercely,  though  her 
voice  was  strangely  hollow. 

"My  mother  and  myself,  and — "  yes,  it  was  better  to  tell  the 
whole  truth  now — "  Kirke  Gilliat." 

She  was  silent  so  long,  that  he  threw  himself  on  his  knees 
before  her,  and  took  the  trembling  hands  in  his. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  cried  in  anguish.  "It  was  not  a  fact 
one  could  soften.  God  knows  that  I  would  have  spared  you 
any  pain  that  was  possible.  You  see  now  why  I  must  be  an 
outcast  until  I  earn  a  place  among  my  fellow-men,  and  then 
I  can  never  come  wholly  out  of  the  shadow." 

"Leave  me  now."  Her  voice  was  weak  and  broken,  with 
the  quaver  of  old  age  in  it.  "I  must  think  a  little.  Kirke 
Gilliat's  son  !"  wincing  as  if  some  one  had  struck  her  a  blow, 

"Bring  your  mother  up  here  to-morrow — I  must  see  her. 
And — I  will  tell  you  then." 

He  walked  partly  across  the  room,  then  came  back  to  where 
she  sat  so  bowed  and  stricken. 

"You  understand  that  I  could  not  have  taken  your  love  or 
your  honors  with  this  secret  untold.  I  should  have  loathed 
myself  for  cowardice  and  hypocrisy.  There  have  been  times 
when  I  could  have  cried  out  against  God's  injustice,  as  I 
thought  it ;  but  when  Kirke  Gilliat's  sore  punishment  over 
took  him  I  was  shamed  into  silence.  There  is  a  deeper  lesson 
in  it  than  I  have  yet  learned.  But  wherever  I  go,  to  whatever 
station  I  may  attain,  this  year  at  Cragness  will  be  like  the  palm 
and  the  fountain  in  the  desert  of  my  life.  How  much  T  owe 
you  for  the  sake  of  one  dead,  I  never  can  put  into  words." 

"I  have  not  sent  you  away:  remember  that,"  she  cried 
weakly.  "You  will  come  to-morrow." 

Victor  bowed  and  withdrew.  Sylvia  still  sat  crouched  in 
the  hall ;  but  she  glanced  up  with  desperate,  questioning  eyes. 
He  took  her  hand. 

"I  will  bind  you  by  no  promises,"  he  said.  "You  shall 
b<i  quite  free ;  but  you  must  know — you  do  know,  that  I  love 


364  With  Fate  against  Him. 

you.     There  may  be  brighter  fortunes  for  you  than  to  go  into 
exile  with  me." 

"I  choose  it,  I  choose  it  1"  she  cried,  in  accents  of  strong, 
steadfast  faith.  "Whatever  you  were,  my  love  would  be  the 
same.  If  you  had  gone  in  silence,  I  must  still  have  loved. 
For  all  time,  forever." 

He  kissed  the  quivering  lips,  and  strained  her  to  his  heart. 
No  matter  how  great  the  wreck,  he  had  saved  this  priceless 
treasure.  One  old  dream  had  come  true — she  would  be  the 
judge  and  inspiration  of  his  future,  of  his  work.  It  was  not  so 
hard  to  be  an  outcast  as  it  had  looked  an  hour  ago. 

Doctor  Trewartha  and  Ruth  Gamier  had  the  spacious  room 
and  glowing  fire  to  themselves  that  evening.  Sylvia  went  to 
bed  directly  after  supper,  and  Madam  McRae  wanted  solitude 
and  silence.  All  the  strong  prejudices  of  a  lifetime  were  to  be 
combatted.  The  McRae  blood  might  not  be  heroic,  but  it 
was  clean,  honorable,  and  through  the  long  line  there  had 
been  no  such  miserable  soul  as  Eustace  Gilliat.  Was  that 
God's  way  of  punishing  a  secret  sin?  Ah,  in  the  face  of  His 
sharp  judgment  what  right  had  she  to  deal  out  anything  but 
mercy?  Why  should  she  make  the  innocent  suffer  for  the 
guilty  ?  They  had  borne  the  burden,  and  he  who  laid  it  upon 
them  had  been  prospered,  honored.  Should  she  swell  the 
list  of  the  world's  false  and  easily-biased  judges  ? 

Her  face  was  worn  and  gray  at  breakfast  the  next  morning. 
Sylvia  watched  it  furtively,  but  the  stern  lines  never  relaxed. 
And  she  hid  the  precious  secret  in  her  heart,  gloating  over  it, 
that  whatever  came,  she  would  not  be  thrust  out  of  his  life, 
but  find  there  her  work  and  her  abiding-place. 

The  morning  was  strangely  long.  Doctor  Trewartha  came 
over  and  insisted  upon  taking  Ruth  and  Sylvia  out  to  drive ; 
but  Sylvia  persisted  in  declining. 

"Go  to  your  room,  then,"  said  Mrs.  McRae,  brusquely. 
"I  must  be  alone." 

Watching  from  her  window,  she  saw  Victor  Hurst  and  his 


With  Fate  against  Him.  366 

mother  come  up  the  winding  avenue.  At  any  other  time  she 
would  have  flown  down-stairs  ;  but  now  a  secret  delicacy  for 
bade.  She  listened  to  Mrs.  McRae's  slow  step,  so  unlike  the 
tread  of  a  day  ago ;  and  then  she  sat  tormenting  herself  with 
the  strange  mischances  of  life — the  mingled  good  and  evil, 
like  golden  and  gray  threads  in  a  warp. 

It  seemed  hours  to  her.  She  saw  the  farm-hands  go  up  and 
down  ;  the  sturdy  women,  with  their  careless  gayety ;  and 
occasionally  a  stray  child  rilling  out  the  picture.  Long  after 
ward,  a  well-known  form,  that  sent  a  strange,  cold  apprehen 
sion  through  ever}'  nerve.  A  summons  for  her,  perhaps; 
for  what  should  Mr.  Gilliat  want  of  any  other  inmate  in  that 
house. 

She  went  down  mechanically,  for  the  mere  sake  of  doing 
something ;  the  solitude  oppressed  her  so  like  a  dead  weight. 
Listening  to  the  voices  in  the  hall  she  went  forward. 

"  Yes,  Hannah,  Mrs.  Hurst  is  here,  engaged  with  Mrs. 
McRae. " 

"Ah,  Sylvia!"  and  Mr.  Gilliat  came  toward  her,  taking 
both  hands  gravely,  "I  had  not  thought  of  seeing  you  here. 
My  child,  there  have  been  many  sorrows  since  our  last  meet 
ing.  " 

All  the  tragedy  of  their  lives  lay  between. 

"Do  you  know  if  I  could  see  Mrs.  Hurst — alone?  If  you 
will  hand  her  this  card  ?" 

Sylvia  ushered  him  into  the  seldom  used  drawing-room,  and 
then  tapped  lightly  at  the  other  door. 

"We  are  engaged,"  the  voice  replied,  impatiently.  She 
opened  it  the  merest  trifle.  "  Mrs.  McRae,  if  you  will  please 
give  this  to  Mrs.  Hurst,"  thrusting  forward  the  penciled  mes 
sage. 

"Yes  ;  run  away,  Sylvia,  Child  ;"  and  the  door  was  shut. 

She  walked  slowly  up-stairs  again,  wondering.  Would  they 
never  be  done?  And  what  could  Mr.  Gilliat  want?  How 
grave  and  sorrowful  he  looked.  Ah,  if  these  wearisome  mys- 


366  With  Fate  against  Him. 

teries  were  only  at  an  end,  if  she  might  hear  the  one  voice  so 
dear  to  her  1" 

When  Anah  Hurst  entered  the  dim  drawing-room,  her  eyes 
still  bore  traces  of  weeping  ;  but  there  was  a  sad,  sweet  dignity 
about  her,  a  blending  of  gracious,  yet  sorely-tried  womanhood. 
She  did  not  take  the  hand  half-proffered ;  her  heart  was  too  full 
for  mere  courtesy  toward  Kirke  Gilliat. 

He  apologized  briefly  for  his  intrusion.  He  had  sought  her 
at  her  cottage,  and  learning  she  was  at  Cragness  had  followed 
thither.  Urgent  business  only  could  have  prompted  him  to 
come.  He  had  something  to  restore  to  her,  and — 

With  that  he  placed  a  folded  paper  in  her  hands.  She  opened 
it  slowly. 

"Why  do  you  bring  me  this  now?"  she  asked,  in  great 
calmness.  "If  it  was  a  mockery,  then,  what  circumstances 
can  ever  make  it  less  so  ?" 

"It  is  possible  to  make  some  amends  for  the  past.  I  came 
for — our  child's  sake. " 

The  voice  wavered  curiously.  Anah  Hurst  took  in  all  at 
once.  He  was  free  from  bonds.  Death  had  released  him, 
given  him  liberty  to  speak. 

He  was  the  lover  of  her  youth,  the  father  of  her  child. 
Through  all  these  years  she  had  never  been  able  to  cast  him 
out  utterly,  though  she  no  longer  loved.  He  had  changed 
too.  The  portly,  worldly,  self-conscious  man  was  so  different 
from  the  ideal  she  remembered. 

"  It  is  too  late, "  she  replied. 

"No,  no  !"  with  sudden  haste  and  terror.  "Think  what  I 
can  give  him,  if  you  will  take  nothing  for  yourself.  And  once, 
in  those  old  days,  you  loved  me." 

"That  is  dead." 

"Anah,  Anah !  do  not  be  so  pitiless.  Hear  my  confession. 
I  have  been  a  madman,  a  weak  coward,  a  despicable  villain  ; 
but  circumstances  were  stronger  than  I.  You  were  my  lawful 
wife  then.  Why  did  some  plausable  devil  smoothe  the  way  for 


With  fate  against  Him.  367 

me?  Why  did  all  things  hurry  me  toward  this  mad,  miserable 
ending?  The  man  who  married  us,  a  stranger  in  the  little 
town,  went  West  and  died  three  months  afterward,  and  this  foul 
temptation  haunted  me  until  it  took  me  in  a  giant's  clasp.  I 
did  struggle,  but  fate  was  against  me.  There  was  my  grand 
father's  will,  the  promise  he  had  extorted  from  me,  my  cousin's 
regard — a  swift  current  that  seemed  to  bear  me  down.  But  if 
I  had  known — if  I  had  known  !" 

She  studied  him  like  something  apart  from  her  own  life. 
The  first  sin  God  had  helped  her  to  forgive ;  but  this  cowardly 
cruelty,  begging  for  itself  when  it  found  all  its  other  plans 
defeated,  was  too  weak  and  contemptible. 

"And  you  kept  silence  all  these  years?" 

"  What  else  could  I  do  ?  I  waited  until  it  was  too  late  to 
speak,  and  then  I  bore  my  burden  with  outward  composure.  I 
was  a  loyal  husband  to  the  one  who  has  gone  ;  but  God  cursed 
me  in  her  child,  in  everything,  I  think.  And  now  I  wish  to 
retrace  my  steps.  Can  I  find  no  place  for  repentance?  Is 
it  too  late  for  all  amends  ?  Remember  that  Victor  is  my  child 
as  well,  and  have  a  little  pity." 

"You  had  none  on  me  then,"  with  a  sharp,  passionate 
cry.  ' '  You  left  us  to  perish,  or  to  live  disgraced.  If  he 
were  vile  and  miserable,  if  we  had  both  gone  down  to  the 
place  where  you  thrust  us,  would  you  be  willing  to  help 
raise  him  ?  This  is  a  man's  tardy  justice  and  repentance." 

Her  eyes  flashed  as  she  spoke,  and  a  fine  indignation  veiled 
in  scarlet  suffused  her  face. 

"  No,  I  throw  myself  upon  your  mercy.  I  ask  for  a  little 
right  in  my  son,  for  the  privilege  of  restoring  him  to  his 
own  station.  The  world  need  never  know  our  secret.  When 
the  proper  time  comes  I  can  take  you  home  honorably,  if  you 
will,  and  your  son  shall  be  master  at  Rothermel.  It  is  no 
mean  heritage." 

"  My  answer  is,  that  I  would  rather  be  a  menial  in  my  kins 
woman's  household  than  mistress  of  yours.  If  you  think 


368  With  Fate  against  Him. 

that  empty  honor  can  compensate  for  my  bitter  pangs,  you 
read  me  poorly  indeed." 

"Empty  honor?  Anah,  I  was  weakly  fascinated  by  a 
woman  whose  charms  were  manifold,  but  jour  name  only 
has  been  engraven  on  my  heart.  God  knows  that  it  has  been 
hard  work  to  keep  from  loving  you  while  I  had  no  right" 

Yes,  love  was  utterly  dead,  killed  by  falsehood,  treachery, 
and  selfishness. 

"My  son  shall  choose  for  himself,"  she  said,  quietly,  ignor 
ing  his  appeal.  Then  she  walked  across  the  hall  to  the  room 
she  had  so  lately  left,  the  open  paper  still  in  her  hand.  Mrs. 
McRae  and  Victor  were  surprised  by  her  stately  bearing. 

"There  !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  strong,  clear  tone.  "  Read 
it,  both  of  you.  This  clergyman's  signature  raises  me  in  the 
world's  estimation,  clears  you  from  all  stain.  If  you  want  a 
father  and  a  fortune,  he  is  there  waiting  for  you.  But  no 
wealth,  no  honor,  no  late  regard  can  give  me  back  the  lost 
lover  of  my  youth  1  I  shall  remain  true  and  loyal  to  the  man 
who  saved  me  in  my  hour  of  need — John  Hurst's  widow, 
always.  But  Kirke  Gilliat  waits  for  you. " 

She  had  been  proud  of  him  many  a  time  before,  but  never 
so  proud  as  when  she  sent  him  in  the  flush  of  his  youth  and 
manly  beauty  to  stamp  the  ineffaceable  wrong  home  to  Kirke 
Gilliat's  soul,  that  in  its  self-complacency  fancied  this  deep  and 
bitter  sin  could  be  righted  with  deatest  gain  to  himself. 

But  when  Victor  had  gone  she  laid  her  head  in  Janet  Mc- 
Rae's  lap  and  sobbed  with  a  woman's  keen,  overwhelming 
passion.. 

' '  I  am  glad  to  be  pure  and  honorable  in  your  eyes,  my 
friend,  my  friend  !" 

"Who  am  I  that  I  should  judge?  God  forgive  me  for 
having  arrogated  that  power  to  myself!'' 

The  strange  day  was  near  its  ending.  A  soft,  mellow  sunset, 
with  a  golden  haze  diopping  to  purple  twilight.  The  tragedy 


With  Fate  against  Him.  369 

and  pain  of  their  lives  rounding  as  tranquilly,  perhaps,  and 
folding  the  old  day  of  sorrow  into  a  soft  winding-sheet  ere  it 
was  laid  away  in  the  tomb. 

A  strange  time  indeed  for  Victor  Hurst.  He  knew  now 
what  a  father's  pride  might  be,  and  the  awful  retribution  that 
could  come  to  wrong-doing,  even  though  it  might  go  on  pros 
perously  for  years.  One  human  life  was  so  linked  in  with 
another,  that  no  act  was  without  wide-spread  consequences,  no 
sin  but  what  bore  fruit  to  some  later  generation. 

He  was  thinking  now  of  his  own  life.  How  much  work 
there  was  to  do  on  these  broad  acres.  Towns  to  build  ;  pros 
perity  to  evolve  ;  human  lives  to  watch  ;  human  souls  to  feed. 
When  a  man  has  learned  the  grand  secret  of  life,  and  compre 
hends  its  sacred  duties,  labor  is  ennobled  in  his  eyes  for  all 
time. 

There  was  work  and  duty  here ;  love,  happiness.  These 
three  women  rested  upon  him  for  strength,  for  protection. 
Would  any  mere  selfish  rambling  about,  seeking  for  pleasure 
and  honor,  compensate  for  their  solitary  hours  and  hungering 
pain? 

He  turned  and  smiled.  Sylvia  caught  it  up  with  the  last 
arrowy  ray  of  sunset,  and  answered,  slipping  her  child's  hand 
within  his,  so  strong  and  warm. 

"You  will  stay?" 

"Ah,  you  read  so  quickly,  my  darling;"  pleased  at  her 
discernment. 

' '  You  can  study  here. " 

"  As  I  told  you,  I  may  find  better  things  than  a  statue — souls 
to  assist." 

Then,  with  his  arm  still  around  her,  he  drew  her  to  Mrs. 
McRae. 

"  Will  you  take  us  both  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.  Sylvia,  child,  your  eyes  are  clearer  than  my  old 
ones.  Be  a  good  wife  to  him. " 

Mrs.  Hurst  came  and  kissed  them  both. 


370  With  Fate  against  Him. 

"There  will  be  a  double  marriage,  Trewartha,"  Mrs.  McRae 
said,  as  he  was  going  away  that  evening.  "  Let  them  be  quiet 
and  over  with  as  speedily  as  possible.  Ruth  will  always  be  my 
eldest  daughter." 

But  Ruth,  learning  her  sweet  lesson,  was  quite  ready  to  leave 
mother  and  home  and  go  to  her  husband.  It  is  best  that  it 
should  be  so. 

Tramping  over  the  hills,  Victor  met  Paul. 

"  It  is  decided,"  he  announced,  with  a  joyous  ring.  "  I  shall 
remain  here,  work  and  study,  and  perhaps  win  a  little  fame. 
Let  your  wanderings  end,  for  I  need  you  too." 

The  dark  little  face  was  aglow  with  pleasure. 

And  in  the  long  life  that  came  to  him  he  was  no  idler.  The 
meaning  of  the  greater  work,  demanded  by  God,  grew  clearer 
to  him ;  the  work  to  which  we  all  add  our  mite,  in  honor  or 
dishonor ;  in  fair,  bold  writing,  or  blurred  letters  read  only 
through  tears. 

Kirke  Gilliat  hears  of  them  in  his  great,  solitary  house. 
Sylvia,  his  son's  wife,  but  not  here.  Prattling  children  clus 
tering  around  their  knees,  whose  voices  he  will  never  listen  to 
in  these  old  halls. 

But  he  knows  the  black  shadow,  hanging  over  his  lonely 
years,  which  he  calls  fate,  is  only  another  name  for  God's  watch 
ful  justice,  that  when  it  strikes,  strikes  surely.  He  chose  the 
purple  and  fine  linen,  and  he  has  it — a  dreary  mockery. 

Over  John  Hurst's  grave  the  flowers  bloom,  tended  by  loving 
hands.  If  he  had  saved  but  one  soul  it  would  have  been  well 
with  him,  but  his  feeble  hands  will  not  rise  empty  at  the  last 
day. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-32wi-8,'57(.C8680s4)444 


Douglas  - 
With  fate 
against  him 


• 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A      000035722    8 


PS 


^"£?    > 

>  ^  •  ^--T* 


3V-Y 


53 


v>-  ^  ,-^sv 

"T»  \  t  -  -3 

•     ,.i> 


